In the fall of the year when we run out of light
Farmers add to their day by working into the night.
It's been another day under a sky of blue
And for all that's done, there is still much to do.
Reaching across the cab I now turn up the heat
And watch this day end from my tractor seat.
There is little left of the setting sun
As the day work has ended, and night work begun.
From the cab all I see is the sun's dull glow.
To my back the moon's rising and hanging low.
I'm crossing this field as farmers before.
But now I am accompanied by a diesel's roar.
Gone are the days of a horse drawn plow.
It's a cab, and lights, and heater now.
I stop on the end to write these few lines.
Then I hit the throttle and bury the tines.
I remember the farmers who now rest in the ground
And would like to join me for "just one round."
They were my neighbors--Stanley, Curtis, and Ray.
I saw them at coffee. They were part of my day.
Minutes have gone by and I look completely around
To see no division between sky and ground.
The horizon has disappeared with the setting sun
And in front of me sky and earth are now one.
The ground is rising and falling under me.
And I'm a ship that sails night's blackened sea.
For miles and miles I see dots of light
As yard lights turn on poking holes in the night.
And all around me, are those the stars I see?
Or could they be the yard lights turned on
By the farmers gone on to keep me company.