It’s a farm built by a vanishing breed
With its springs, vast fields, and quaint little house
Its large barn is filled with cows, straw, and feed
And cats roam the grounds in search of a mouse

Sometimes I’d help my uncle with the chores
In the musty barn, we’d spread out new straw
I’d help him name the calves when they were born
Then I’d pet them and play with them in awe

During feeding time, if you would listen
You’d hear cows’ bellows after my uncle’s calls
Then after a long day’s work we’d glisten
And relax inside the summerhouse walls

So how now this spring will I not again see
Cows in the pastures by trickling streams?