My father's face is brown with sun
His body is tall and limber
His hands are gentle with beast or child
And strong as hardwood timber

My father's eyes are the colors of sky
Clear blue or gray as rain
They change with the swinging change of days
While he watches the weather vane

That galleon, golden upon our barn
Veers with the world's four winds
My father, his eyes on the vane
Knows when to fill our barley bins

To stock our wood and pile our mows
With red top and sweet clover
He captains our farm that rides the winds
A keen-eyed brown earth-lover

"Father" By Frances Frost