When I think of Iowa,
I think of cattle,
I think of the rattle under the road,
driving by humble abodes.
I imagine cornfields,
I imagine barns,
driving by the farms,
I hear the rumble of tractors,
the thunder in the sky during summertime,
I smell the stink of the cows,
we should be nearly there now,
driving to my grandpa’s house,
I truly think of Iowa,
and when I do I think of me,
but more importantly my family.
Iowa isn’t just a state,
it’s something that comes to mind,
as I pull into the gate to my grandpa’s house,
it’s like a section in my heart that says who I am
