A trip to farthest Farmhouse

My little happy-go-lucky cart
Rolls towards the fields.
And I hear the faraway sound of breaking soil
With the harrow.
Sorry, I do not have any qualifications to be a farmer
But I have a hatchet and my broken-stringed lute.
Hope a farm lassie loves music
And I can sing a song to her lonely heart.

Humbly I dedicate this poem to the *Irish poet Mat Mooney.