I Am a Plow

So apparently I am a plow. Don't ask me how it happened, but here I am with my steel parts, peeling grass-green paint, and covered in dirt. During the summer the farmer used to take me out every day, starting at sunrise and working tirelessly for six or seven hours. By the end of the day I would be filthy and I could barely roll back to my shed. Now though, it's November and I have every day off until April. It's nice to take time off, but this shed is drafty and cold. I wish I would get more appreciation from the farmer for all the hard work I've done. Without me he would be nothing. Does he have seven metal arms that can dig through the soil at the perfect depth and impeccable spacing? I didn't think so. So now I'm just laying here all winter, taking a peek out of the far away window when I can, and waiting. Maybe the farmer will come and visit me sometime, or even bring me inside his house. We're friends right? Or maybe not. Now that I think about it it wouldn't be too bad to go back to work. So bored...