THE NEW ZEALAND FARMER

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XXII, Issue 193, 30 July 1932, Page 11

THE NEW ZEALAND FARMER

[Contributed, with apologies to Longfellow.] Under its spreading bankruptcy the farmer’s homestead stands, It’s lord a mournful man is he As he ploughs his mortgaged lands; For the laws that seize his cream and cheese, Are strong as iron bands. His face is thin, and long, and grim, And burnt like Pharaoh’s bricks; His brow is wet with honest sweat, His shins are blue with kicks; His toes are bent and crumpled up With kicking at the pricks. Week in, week out, from morn till night, He toils to keep food cheap. 'He ploughs and harrows, arid he plants For some one else to reap. And the only time he owns his soul Is when ha is asleep.

His children stay at home from school To hoe his noxious weeds; Although they know they cannot earn Sufficient for their needs, They hope to slay the Bathurst Burr Before the rascal seeds. He goes on Sundays to the yards, With his little girls and boys. And they rejoice to hear his voice And the language he employs When a cranky heifer plants a kick On a spot where it annoys. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing. Onward through life he goes; He hopes to work for all he knows Till his creditors foreclose; And then in seven feet odd of earth Enjoy a long repose.