(130KB)

When geese come fly'n on wings of gray,
To frozen fields of corn;
The wintry air is seen stir'n stalks,
Soon as the day is born.

Far off a ways... near a stand of pine,
The farmhouse lamps are lit;
Breakfast is fry'n on a wood cook-stove,
While boots on a stone hearth sit.

Papa's in suspenders by the old wash-bowl,
Drag'n razor 'gainst a leather hone;
And out on the porch lying under the swing,
Old Blue's got his favorite bone.

Six children soon gather at the eat'n table,
Each sit'n in his usual place;
And when Mama finds time to finally sit down,
That's when their Papa says grace.

"We thank ye, Lord... fer all that ye've done,
Make'n all the sick ones healthy agin;
Now bless this food so we can all grow strong,
And if it's ye Will, bless this farm, Lord... Amen."

Right after their breakfast, dressed up real warm,
All go out to meet the day;
Then heads look up... as they hear the honk'n,
There's the geese on their wings of gray.