Contrary to popular belief

Farming is a glamorous job 
Each day the sun herself 
Blushes my cheeks 
The dust of the earth 
Powders my nose 
And terra and clay 
Manicure my nails 
 
I’m applauded by my tractor engine 
As I pass through fields 
On my mowing steed 
The grasses throw confetti
That decorate my limbs all the day long 
 
Like desperate fans 
Ticks cling to me 
When I pass close to their homes 
The wasps come out 
And greet me with a kiss 
I am so adored by weeds
They refuse to leave 
As Mary with Jesus 
The fields douse my feet 
In precious dew 
My socks feel soggy praises all the day long 
 
The sweet perfume I spray 
It’s scent, the beetles say, is to die for  
Spiders decorate my barn 
In silvery silk 
A party just for me
Ready to jump out and yell surprise 
 
Sometimes I think it’s all too much for me 
The glamour, the praise, the ardor 
But as night approaches 
And my show is done 
I look over my fields 
At the firefly poparazzi
Perhaps I can endure the limelight just a little longer