You're hands are rough
Like a mountain Pitt
They surcomb to evolution
Must we not forget
The troubled times
Theve being around a lot
Mulucking through the dirt
On the old farm.plain

Tillaging through the dirt
They are all.hard and wrinkled due to passing time
But your hands tells a story
Of glorious times
Gone by
Your hand take up your pipe
With a little shake
No more will they work
On the little tillage farm
You.pet your dog
For all the work done
And take up your pipe
To puff and blow
No more will you worry
About the past times gone.


The End