"So you want to see my farm" he said
"To see my farm," said he.
Well there it lies before you now,
With fallow rich from the turning plow,
And the living green of the almond bough,
And the homestead warm on the hill.
"It isn't much of a farm," he said
"Not much of a farm," said he.
But a living dream of forty years
And a plain old tale of hopes and fears
Of a man's hard sweat and a woman's tears
Are something to think of still.
"It's just a bit of a farm," he said
"A bit of a farm," said he.
With the young wheat green in the morning glow
And the red cows there on the flat below
And the blue smoke hanging pale and low,
And the swallow over the sward.
"It isn't much of a farm," he said
"Not much of a farm," said he.
But a man's own plan is a precious thing
Thrice rich to commoner, as to King -
And he is rich, whom the seasons bring
The prize of his toils reward.
"So you would inspect my farm," he said
"You'd look at my farm," said he.
Well, there are the fences, straight and good,
And the homestead built of the native wood,
And the cleared land where the scrub once stood,
And the rest is as you see.
"It isn't much of a farm," he said,
"Not much of a farm," said he.
But such as it is, it's all my own,
Built of my faith and blood and bone,
From the first old trail to the crop new sown,
And the grandchild at my knee.
"So you'd want to buy my farm," he said
"You'd buy my farm," said he.
Well, do you value the light and shade?
What is your price for the dream I've made?
And how would you buy on size or grade -
The children whose shouts you hear?
"You haven't the money to buy," he said,
"This bit of farm," said he.
You haven't the money to buy the worth
Of the joy and prayer, of the death and birth,
The power that blessed this fruitful earth,
And the love that made it dear.
Written by "Jeff."
Published by Winifred Roberts in a 1976 broadcast,
Station owner Taihape-Napier District, New Zealand
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