Yesterday
by Charles A. McLennan (Grandy)

Old tractor dismembered and shrouded in dust Her body disfigured by horrible rust; Her day is long over, her plowing all done, No more will she flash in the sun. The spark plugs are gone; there's no fire inside. Her pistons long idle, her spirit has died; She rusts in dishonor, not even a grave In reward for the service she gave. In a field back of nowhere, abandoned, alone; Been robbed of the seat that was used as a throne. No one to sing to the song of the gears; Everything's gone with the years . . . In her prime she could plow fifteen acres a day. The binder in fall was considered as play. With full tanks she'd boldly strike out, at the dawn; Be there until last light had gone. One way or harrows, she didn't much care; The belt pull of harvest when fall's in the air; Her real work, revealing what lay below ground Each new year when spring rolled around. In a field back of nowhere, abandoned, alone; Been robbed of the seat that was used as a throne. No one to sing to the song of the gears; Everything's gone with the years . . . Yesterday's gone, must keep with the times. Not much call today for a pitchfork with tines. Computerized cows let themselves out to graze... Tomorrow there'll be a new craze.

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