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THE OLD FARMERS PRAYER​

FARMER
Time just keeps moving on ​
Many years have come and gone ​
But I grow older without regret ​
My hopes are in what may come yet.​
On the farm I work each day ​
This is where I wish to stay ​
I watch the seeds each season sprout ​
From the soil as the plants rise out.​
I study Nature and I learn ​
To know the earth and feel her turn ​
I love her dearly and all the seasons ​
For I have learned her secret reasons. ​
All that will live is in the bosom of Earth ​
She is the loving mother of all birth ​
But all that lives must pass away ​
And go back again to her someday. ​
My life too will pass from Earth ​
But do not grieve, I say, there will be other birth ​
When my body is old and all spent ​
And my soul to Heaven has went. ​
Please compost and spread me on this plain ​
So my body Mother Earth can claim ​
That is where I wish to be ​
Then Nature can nourish new life with me. ​
So do not for me grieve and weep ​
I did not leave, I only sleep ​
I am with the soil here below ​
Where I can nourish life of beauty and glow. ​
Here I can help the falling rain ​
Grow golden fields of ripening grain ​
From here I can join the winds that blow ​
And meet the softly falling snow. ​
Here I can help the sun’s warming light ​
Grow food for birds of gliding flight ​
I can be in the beautiful flowers of spring ​
And in every other lovely thing. ​
So do not for me weep and cry ​
I am here, I do not die. ​
AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Thanks for your time. – Promote Yourself

TEA TIME

You quickly cross that peril off the list
Because the danger, you assume, has passed,
But other sets of Sirens still exist
And might enchant you when no ropes or mast
Or loyal friends with wax to stop their ears
Restrain your mad, unquenchable desire
To touch the blazing sun that sears
Without enduring its consuming fire.
It’s easy to resist when you’re in chains
And friendly prison guards can’t hear your voice,
But one who’s absolutely free refrains
When fatal pleasure has become a choice.
Until you’ve walked by foes without your crutch,
Surviving battles doesn’t mean that much.
Paul Burgess
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