sun cracks the sky, old green wakes up,
cold coffee steaming in a chipped tin cup.
'65 paint chipped, but the grille still shines,
mud-splattered tires, and a name on the line.
a family photo taped to the dash,
grandpa joe's grin, and a dust-worn sash.
the creaky seat remembers every ride,
dog named blue curled up right by his side.
he breathes in diesel, exhales the dawn,
counts the fields like a prayer lingers on.
tractor heartbeat, steady and loud,
old green hums beneath a sky of clouds.
clutch and throttle, furrows in time,
he tills the land, he lays down the rhyme.
tractor heartbeat, steady and loud,
hands on the wheel, humble and proud.
rows of promise where love grows clear,
fields of story that everyone hears.
radio crackles some old sunday hymn,
boots full of dirt, knees dipped in the rim.
he calls the dogs, they follow the lane,
tracks in the mud like a long-inked name.
a brass key on a cord, a model stamped ’65,
every bolt, every scar proves the machine’s alive.
the smell of rain, the taste of toil,
he reads the soil like a well-worn coil.
sun on the dash, a shadow of home,
he hums a tune made of callused bones.
tractor heartbeat, steady and loud,
old green hums beneath a sky of clouds.
clutch and throttle, furrows in time,
he tills the land, he lays down the rhyme.
tractor heartbeat, steady and loud,
hands on the wheel, humble and proud.
rows of promise where love grows clear,
fields of story that everyone hears.
through wind and rain, through heat, through frost,
counting every gain, weighing every cost.
he talks to the rows like they’re kin and friend,
planting tomorrow where the seasons bend.
not just work — a vow in each seed sown,
a promise kept in the rows he owns.
tractor heartbeat, steady and loud,
old green hums beneath a sky now bowed.
clutch and throttle, a vow he keeps,
he tills the night where the memory sleeps.
tractor heartbeat, steady and clear,
he plants the past so the future's near.
rows of promise, this land's frontier,
here he stays — where home grows here.
sunset paints the cab in melted gold,
dog lifts his head, the evening’s cold.
the engine settles like an old-time hymn,
a farmer’s hands slow and sure and grim.
tractor hums like an old heart drum,
night falls soft on what he's done.
rolling fields, a steady chart —
he drives on home with his tractor heart.
