That's All He Is

A Poem by Ford Prefect

Five stanzas

Just a farmer, that's all he is;

Not a celebrity or a politician.

He doesn't think he's some big whiz,
And he's not a man on a mission.

He's proud that his neck is painted red;
The proof is on his scarred hands that he's not some poser.

Every August afternoon he'll have a field to tend,
After he puts his eight in on the dozer.

He's just the owner of a little farm,
Calluses and sweat make up this simple man.
He's not pretty but he's got his charm,
With strong arms and a farmer's tan.

He'll break his back just to earn a buck,
Working until the daylight's all gone.
Saturday he'll have a load of feed in his old Ford truck,
In his back glass hanging is his trusty old gun.

He doesn't covet the fancy stuff he's never had,
And he might not look like much to doubters;
But he's my dad,
And I couldn't be prouder.