Before the likes of Tyson
This was the farmer’s town
Up and down North Lexington
Real goods sold all around
Yes we dealt in poultry
Three generations worked the shop
Near feed stores and the market
A fixture on the block
Eggs, butter, honey
Country hams on the wall
Of course the fresh killed chickens
Sold the best of all
Some squawking down the alley
Trying to take flight
To escape a certain fate
Of a supper table night
A family of bee-keepers
I trimmed the honey-comb
Within the wealth of golden jars
I always felt at home
Economy you can see and touch
That’s what I grew up knowing
And still today I like to think
Of honey bees and sowing.
