A Farmer's Son.
Swishing, swishing, swishing.
I pad down the road with bare, brown feet
Wishing, wishing, wishing
That the golden heads were a vast gold fleet
Sailing, sailing, sailing
To the place where the earth and the sky-line meet
Paling, paling, paling.
'Tis harvest time and the white hot sun
Boiling, boiling, boiling
Scorches the faces of men sweat-run
Toiling, toiling, toiling.
In my jug is cool drink; for their work must be done
Teeming, teeming, teeming,
There's no time to be spent by a farmer's son
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)