Ford Farming

The Ford on the farm arose
Before the dawn at four;
It milked the cow and washed the clothes
And finished every chore.

Then forth it went into the field
Just at the break of day;
It reaped and threshed the golden yield
And hauled it all away.

It plowed the field that afternoon
And when the job was through;
It hummed a pleasant little tune
And churned the butter too.

For while the farmer, peaceful eyed,
Read by the tungsten's glow,
The patient auto stood outside
And ran the dynamo.