I got for a greeting this jocular hail,
“Wal, always behind like an old cow’s tail.”
I’ll own to you, neighbor, that work on the
farm
Had features not wholly surrounded by charm.
And when I am fashioning lyrical praise
For matters bucolic of earlier days,
You’ll note that my lyre, sir, operates best
When I tune up and sing of the blessings of
rest.