There is a trite old saying,
(I've often heard the pitch)
that the farmers and the ranchers
live pore and, then, die rich.
I've lived the life, watched other folks
and the things they're prone to do.
So, I'll confirm that saying
As purty close to true.
"Purty close" —I'll qualify—
there is one minor hitch.
There's several more a livin' pore
than there is a dyin' rich.
But, we operate a lot the same
plumb across this nation.
We foller a similar pattern
in our chosen occupation.
Livin' it up is somethin'
we're sure we can't afford.
To grow the operation,
we defer our own reward.
Salaried folks would think us weird
in the values we espouse.
We'll re-roof the hay shed
when it's leakin' at the house.
New carpet for the livin' room
is sure no urgent factor
when you need to fix the feed truck
or overhaul the tractor.
It seems there's always a way to buy
a squeeze chute or a saddle
or the better bulls we're needing
to upgrade our common cattle.
But Little Sis' will hafta wait
to buy that new French horn
when it's time to fertilize
or, maybe, buy seed corn.
If Mama had those new clothes,
she'd look so sharp and sporty.
But, what about the bob wire
for fencin' that south forty?
We risk the work of the last five years
on a cattle market bet,
but we're never in a hurry
to buy a TV set.
Oh, we take care of our families.
We just cut out all the frills
to lime the land and build the pens
and pay those big feed bills.
We work and skimp and sacrifice.
We calculate and save.
We build our operations.
Then, they lay us in the grave.
At last we finally have achieved
the status of prosperity —
a big estate, an edifice
erected for posterity.
Yes, we finally made it happen.
We made things turn out right.
We'll just make our exit
and hope the kids don't fight.
There's a P.S. to this story
to complicate our fate—
what the Bible says 'bout the rich man
when he gets to Heaven's Gate.
But, if a large estate's your only flaw,
there's not much need to worry.
The Estate Division, I.R.S.
will fix that in a hurry.
