My poem Farmer

In our AP English class, we recently had to do parodies of one poem that was in our literature book. I have no idea why, but I picked Tennyson's Ulysses. After reading it, I found that It seemed to place too much emphasis on such events only being able to happen to a hero. In order to bring this to the forefront, my parody is about a survivor of the USS Arizona that is on his deathbed many years later. And here is my poem:

Farmer

An old farmer makes no living sittin',
In a cold room, on an empty hilltop,
With a run-down wife. I advise folks
On how to live their lives civilized-like,
And act like decent folk and not durn fools.

I ain't got time to rest; its harvest time
And there's always work to do around here.
There's times for bein' happy and others
For gettin' all gloomy for me and mine.
We love each other in good years and bad,
In the blist'rin sun or the chillin' rain
That falls during planting. I'm just me,
A man trying to raise a good crop for
His family and to show his boys the way
An honest man makes his way in the world.

Me and the boys get together nightly
And talk about days that have long passed by.
All the memories we've shared through the years
Keep me comp'ny on the road I follow
Shinin' almost impossible to see,
But always there when I look around me.
I feel so helpless, not workin' the fields,
A plow that is at last fallin' to pieces.
It ain't a life to sit and watch others,
At least it ain't a life to these old bones.

Ain't much left for me, but time is precious.
Every minute left is one with my kin
Away from the long sleep, my last big fight.
I spent years trying to hold on to life,
To stay with my kinfolk and help them just
A bit longer. Looks like I may be spent.

This is my boy, my eldest, Jonathan
Who I'm leaving my land and my duties.
I love him dearly and see prosperity
Under his guidance for family and farm.
It will take a long time, but I think he
Has the skill and patience I didn't have.
I raised him as best I could to be a
Good man and father. He will do his job
And he shall do it better than I could.
He'll work well and earn his family's respect.
When I am gone, he'll continue my work.

There's my old ship, the Arizona just
Like that day all those long, long years ago.
My friends, good people all, are calling me;
They hoot and holler to me even with
The thund'rous noise all about them. The sun
Shines off of bald heads and smiles light faces.
We are old, but we haven't really changed.
Death will find us all, but we can keep
Our dignity when we go. It might not
Seem like much, but we were immortal once.

The sun is starting to set and the stars
Are beginnin' to shine. The moon rises
Slowly, but steadily into the sky.
The sounds of the night begin and I call
My friends to go on one last adventure.
Its time to set sail to a place beyond
The land I call home. Its time to fight the
Last fight and we won't be caught by surprise
This time. This time we know what's comin' and
We won't lose this second time, not again.

Though I'm old and gray now and my time is
Fast approachin', my spirit is steady.
Come what will, I will be ready for it
With my friends and my ship to watch my back.
Even though I'm not what I once was, I'm
Stubborn as a mule and won't lose again.

(If you read this far, I hope you enjoyed it.)

And if you wish to, Ulysses in its entirety:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle —
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me —
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.