THE SINGING FARMER

He was known as the Singing Farmer.

He sang out in his fields.

Hoping to induce his produce to produce,

He sang for higher yields.

He sang rock ‘n’ roll to the beans.

For wheat, it was jazz with a horn.

He belted out the blues in the pickle patch,

And sang pop to the corn.

He could plow through a song,

His golden voice low and deep.

At night he’d sing soft lullabys,

To put his crops to sleep.

The townsfolk could hear him singing.

His voice travelled far.

In less than a growing season,

He became a star.

The Singing Farmer went on tour.

He had made the big time.

No more standing in fields,

And singing silly songs that rhyme.

Then one night disaster struck.

It happened in New York.

He couldn’t hit a note, and sang off key all night,

He had forgotten to bring his pitchfork.

Michael D. Schafer

© April 5, 2018