The harvest was  brilliant in Joe’s farm,
He reaped it with his wife, his good luck charm.
Their skin tanned and rough ,
They were happy although life was tough.

The cool breeze blowing across their face,
They were plain and full of grace.
They  gazed towards the sky,
While the clouds went by.

 His father, a man of religious bent,
Joe’s secular thoughts, he could hardly vent.
Although their house rattled when the cold wind blew,
The value of education his father knew.

Joe’s friends scattered all over in the city,
He was the most witty.
He was the most able ,
There was no job he was  incapable.
At the gathering, the opening splendor,
But all were in awe to know Joe was now just a farmer!
His pride did not hurt,
He wasn’t curt.
At the end of the gathering, he still remained a charmer,
And now he was the farmer!

Written for The Sunday Whirl

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