I often wonder while in thought
How progress changed our ways,
And all the difference that it brought
From since my childhood days.
Like on dad’s spread of yesteryear,
Where yet I see him now,
Trudging along in awkward veer,
Behind a mule and plow.
Carefully working down each path
As he plowed back to and fro,
Running into a little wrath
To make that old mule go.
At one end was the shady end
Where dad would stop the plow,
To take some time to catch his wind
And wipe his sweaty brow.
And he often mumbled at that time....
When resting in the shade,
"Lord, there’s got to be another kind
Of tool besides this blade!"
Dad never knew the twirling tines
That came to till each row,
And never saw the huge combines
That reap the crops below.
And I suppose in all his dreams
He’d never see the day;
That all those fancy farm machines
Would ever come his way.
No, they were the years of the Model "T"...
Hard work, the only rule,
The only farm tool dad would see...
Was the rear end of that mule!
William E. Hardison
copyrights recorded
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