I grew up in my father’s farmhouse wide,
Where fields of green, and fresh air reside.
He tilled the soil, with hands so strong,
And hoped I’d follow, where he belonged.
But I had dreams, of suits and ties,
Of city life, and corporate skies.
I left the farm, with heart aflame,
To chase the world, and make my name.
My father’s hopes, I could not fulfill,
But still he loved, with an unbroken will.
I built a life, in concrete halls,
And climbed the ladder, with polished calls.
Now I have a son, with eyes so bright,
Who sees the world, in a different light.
He dreams of farms, of fields and trees,
Of living close, to nature’s breeze.
His heart beats fast, for tractors and land,
For the simplicity, of a farmer’s hand.
And though I can, with money and might,
Get him a life, in a surgeon’s sight.
Or engineer’s chair, with a fancy degree,
He chooses still, the farmhouse legacy.
And I am proud, of his heart so true,
For seeing value, in the life I once knew.
The circle’s full, the story’s told,
Of a son who left, and a grandson who holds.
The farmhouse dear, the land and the sky,
A legacy lives, as the years go by.
And I am grateful, for this twist of fate,
That brought me back, to my rural state.
For in my son’s eyes, I see the light,
Of a life well-lived, in the farmhouse sight.
