Winter Wheat

I seem to have lost my patience

Waiting for the clouds of dust the custom cutters bring

The foreman called to say, he would be here any day

With his convoy of threshing machinesNow what would make a man make a promise he can't keep?

A custom cutter crew could clear this harvest in a week

While me on my John Deere would take more than a year

To lay down this harvest of winter wheatWinter, winter wheat

The grain is groaning on the stem

When the custom cutter comes and the harvest is in

Perhaps I'll find my patience againI allow as how I have my own frustrations

I was counting on this crop to lay my mortgage down

And I admit that there's a limit to my patience

But damn it all to hell, they should have been here by now