I zig zagged near a river
heading back to the farm
The woods were dotted black
with Angus cows a grazing
lazily munching along
safe and secure on the edge of woods

Easy to find the rivers
here in central Illinois
as woods line their pathways
One farmstead, then another
Well appointed homes, aged,
and neatly kept barns and sheds
Not a painting, real
Real places, real people
Secure in who they are
Breathing in the people
I know their names and faces
Soaking up the places
centennial farms planted

I got my arms around them
and I was blessed
To be a part
It is good
And I am grateful
to know and be known
by them
Page Two
Maybe we were sculpted
by some special soil
(in truth, all soils are special!)
but I do know the soils are part
of what we do each year

We touch them, feel them
waiting for warmth to mother seeds
We scratch and till them, tile them,
and cover them with blankets green
They give us food, and fuel, and fiber
to feed, power, and clothe us
The farms are laced with tools
shiny handled shovel
our hands have polished often
Shiny door handles, gate latches
where we’ve touched them often