Thousands of acres to go.
Wheat. Barley. Oats. Flax. Canola.
I understand this life so.
We dance the dance of farming.
Thousands of grains they sow.
Forage, grains, oilseeds and more.
Sweat, tears, diesel fumes all go
into making this life you enjoy.
Thousands of wives work and know.
Driven by those they love.
This life they bleed for, making it grow.
Each one wishing for rain days.
Dark eyes crinkled in dust know.
He sees my lust driving me to bake
wishing he could see me naked so
I dance with the clouds for rain.
We can’t admit it, you know.
Farming comes first, so pray for clear
skies and good nights, help them go.
And quietly we wish for rain.
Not so much rain, not stop just slow.
Give away my widow’s weeds for a day.
Let me love him, smelling of fields. Oh!
I’m a ready field, awaiting my harvest.
You learn to love it, watching them go.
Knowing each round brings him closer.
And further away, in dust dreams stow.
Yearning for an early night, rain too.
Rub the shoulders, learn the lingo.
Understand moisture and yields by field
Whispering, pulling him in, low.
Dear, I love you, let the harvest go.
Arms twined, one leg over just so.
Listening to rain, and the snores beside.
It’s not a bad thing, so you know
loving while it rains during harvest.
The ache returns and he has to go.
Fields are calling, wicked mistresses.
Combines and tractors! I know!
He is always ready for sunny days.
I love him. I love him so.
I can’t help but hate the long days.
I want him. I want him so.
I can’t help but wish for rain during harvest.
Trying something new for Victoria as she hosts at the dVerse Pub – and it’s true too. I love my farming husband, and our life. Bu sometimes I miss him so during the busy seasons – seeding and harvest. I wish for some rain days, so we can linger together. I think we call can relate, no?