The song that I'm to sing to you

Remembers the ole John Deere.

That spent a night in a hay field

With the forest at it's rear.



The poplar leaves were golden

The air was filled with hay.

The rancher's throat was dry

The tractor's coat was grey.



And when the "Deere" coughed out: "I'm dry",

The rancher headed home.

Gas up tomorrow, just for one night

He'd leave the Deere alone.



The rancher greeted the next day

With words I cannot say.

The paper told the countryside

The "wrong deere has died".



When hunters roam the forest, friend.

Don't wave yourself about.

And for the hunters who like to read -

Don't leave your tractor out.



sallysally@usa.net