A Far, Green Country Poem by David Welch

The orders come in, as does the stress,
sometimes the phone still rings off the hook,
They give us a quota every day
and the boss man will come by and look.
I feel my heart-rate staring to rise,
and I can't wait until Saturday,
I'll drive out to a far, green country,
and then all of this will fall away.

The weeks keep going, one like the next,
my mind just subsumes to the routine,
between sales and calls the turnover
here is just remarkably obscene.
But I've got two week's vacation soon,
if I make it that long, who can say,
but I'll fly to a far, green country,
where I'll let all of this fall away.

They say we all must have a career,
that those who will not work will not eat,
so few of us find a job we love,
and the drudgery leaves a man beat.
But some day I'll have the money to
retire and build a country place,
then I'll move to a far, green country,
and let all of these years fall away.

Thought it often seems very unfair
that I'll be old when this comes around,
not fit to tromp along the back trails,
too cribbed to explore the wooded grounds.
That something better will come after
is the reason I still bow and pray,
so I'll go to a far, green county,
where the veil of tears will far all away,
and a shepherd will show me the way.