The old farmer didn’t walk very well
he would walk down the rows, until he fell
now he drove a tractor, an antique machine
once there, he would walk into the sea of green
the corn was eye high that first day of July.
The old farmer didn't see very well
he depended upon his sense of touch and smell
leaf after leaf scratched across his weathered face
and the scent of fresh dew permeated the space
the corn was eye high that first day of July.
The old farmer didn’t hear very well
song birds were silent, ears rang like a bell
the warm breeze rustled the corn like waves in the ocean
he imagined the sound from the wind and the motion
the corn was eye high that first day of July.
The old farmer didn’t remember very well
a wave of corn formed a giant swell
the sky turned dark; the weather was a factor
surrounded by corn he misplaced his tractor
the corn was eye high that first day of July.
The old farmer was not very well
his heart was weak and he had a bad back
rain fell and lightning struck with a thunderous crack
the old farmer collapsed in his field, face to the sky
the corn was eye high that first day of July.
The old farmer was never found
his corn never harvested fell to the ground
the farm was sold; the old farmer’s tale left untold
the tractor succumbed to rust, his body turned to dust
the corn was eye high that day the old farmer died.
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