Finally! summer relents
Now the robots’ll stop overheating
In fall, robots don’t fall like flies
Like they like to do in the scorcher months
Filling our nostrils with the gall of hot gearboxes
Just when we need them most around the farm

Bumper crops this year all over, so they’re sayin
Bumperer ’round here than last year for sure
‘Course there’ll be less people now to eat it all
Seems everybody’s lost somebody and then some
Hardly can hear the robots bringing in the food
What with the rukus of so many kicking their buckets

It’s mighty strange days we’re livin through
Seems just yesterday I was riding the tractor with Pa
Meant the world to me, that did, little tow-head that I was
The sun all in those sunflower fields, for the oil
And him calling me son-flower sometimes

In composing this poem,

I applied some swell suggestions

offered in a read poetry post.