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The dairy cow with bell around her neck,
Grazes in the field,
She provides the milk we drink,
Such precious yield.
We lead her in at evening time,
To barn so warm and dry,
A dairy cow our livelihood,
Standing always by.
Our camp is set 'mid pine and oak,
Where squirrels chatter high,
The tents are pitched on forest floor,
Beneath the azure sky.
The firepit ring with stones stacked round,
Holds warmth against the chill,
A woodland camp where trails begin,
And nature fills our will.
The river ford is shallow here,
Where horses splashed on through,
The wagon wheels would get so wet,
As travelers we knew.
The current pulls with steady strength,
The stepping stones are slick,
A river ford both man and beast,
Must ford to get from A to B.
The spinning wheel goes round and round,
Its flyer spins with thread,
The wool from sheep is carded first,
Before it's spun and fed.
Grandmother's wheel sits silent now,
Its wood worn smooth by hands,
A spinning wheel that made the cloth,
For aprons, dresses, bands.
The stone steps lead up to the door,
Worn smooth by feet of those,
Who climbed before through many years,
To reach their home's repose.
Each step a story carved in rock,
Of families long past,
Stone steps that lead to welcome home,
Are built to always last.
The cobbler's bench sits in the shop,
Where shoes were made to fit,
The leather strips and hammers small,
Created something fit.
The cobblar's awl and waxed thread,
Made shoes that walked the miles,
A cobbler's bench where craftsmanship,
Displayed their skills and styles.
The carrier pigeon wings the sky,
A message tied tight,
It carries news across the waves,
To places out of sight.
The homing bird knows where to go,
With instinct sharp and true,
Pigeon post that flies the air,
Brought messages anew.
The wagon wheel creaks with each turn,
Its iron rim holds strong,
It carries grain to market town,
And folks along the long.
The wooden spokes have seen better days,
The hub is worn and rough,
A wagon wheel that still rolls on,
Is transportation enough.
We walk through the pumpkin patch,
To find the perfect one,
Its vine缠绕 and stem so thick,
We pick and call it fun.
The pumpkin's orange glows so bright,
Beneath the autumn sun,
A pumpkin patch is autumn's delight,
Of fall this was the one.
Down in the mine where the coal's so black,
We sing to pass the dark,
The pickaxe rings through hardest rock,
Until the shift's remark.
The canary in the cage tells us,
If air's still safe to breathe,
A coal miner's lot is danger's lot,
As dangerous as the deep.
The fiddle sings a melody,
That makes your feet want to dance,
The bow drawn across strings so bright,
Leads couples into a trance.
At socials and at wedding suppers,
The fiddler plays all night,
A fiddle's tune that lifts your heart,
Is pure delight.
The morning frost covers the fields,
Like silver glitter spread,
Each blade of grass has diamonds small,
That glisten before shred.
The温度 drops below freezing,
As winter's breath sweeps near,
Morning frost on everything,
Makes the world结晶 disappear.
The woodpecker drums on the oak tree trunk,
His staccato beats so fast,
He's searching for the insects hidden,
In bark from the past.
Tap tap tap goes the woodpecker,
On the old tree's trunk so sound,
A woodpecker drum fills the forest,
With nature's percussive sound.
The canning jars line the pantry shelf,
Filled with peaches and beans,
Grandmother's recipes preserved,
By steamy summer scenes.
The pressure cooker hiss and vents,
As lids seal tight with pop,
Canning jars of harvest bounty,
Will winter cold stop.
The cedar chest holds quilts and lace,
That grandmother did stitch,
Its wood smells strong of cedar tree,
And keeps the moths from hitch.
The hinges creak when opened up,
The treasure troves within,
A cedar chest of memories,
Where family history begins.
Sweet charity begins at home,
And spreads to neighbors near,
We share our bread with those in need,
And calms the daily fear.
The collection plate is passed along,
With coins that jingle clear,
Sweet charity that starts at home,
Is love that knows no boundary.
I raise my voice at dawning light,
To greet the day with song,
The birds join in their chorus sweet,
As shadows fade along.
The sun ascends on golden path,
To chase the night away,
A morning hymn of gratitude,
Is sung at start of day.
Down old Tobacco Road we walk,
Where the fields stretch wide,
The curing barns smell sweet and strong,
With tobacco leaves dried.
Grandfather farmed this very land,
His roots sank deep and true,
Tobacco Road remembers him,
In fields of green and blue.
In Dixie Land where magnolias bloom,
The summers hot and long,
The fireflies dance on summer nights,
To jasmine-scented song.
The Mississippi flows so wide,
By cotton fields and cane,
Dixie Land holds memories,
Of sun and Spanish moss rain.
The prairie schooner rolled west,
On wagon trains of old,
The families seeking new frontier,
Their stories to be told.
The canvas top flapped in the wind,
As pioneers pressed on,
A prairie schooner carrying dreams,
Until the journey done.