Do they know what draws me home each year,
to the velvet rolling hills,
to the windswept grasses,
and the stubble fields.
Do they know wherefore the thrills?

Can they think of days when my heart wells up,
to see a furrow turned.
to spill the seed in her fertile soil,
to give in to all that is yearned?

Can they feel her breasts rise up to greet them,
Can they see her new mown vale.
Does her scent seek to calm them,
her sense to disarm them,
Can they warm to her verdant dale?

Do they want to reap her bountiful harvest,
Do they need to drink from her well?
Can they feel the romance,
can they take part in the dance,
Of this farmer in his dell?