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The
old farmer plowed his field
rocks were what he mostly tilled,
his work
was hard, going uphill
the rocks as stubborn as his will
Every stone
was buried deep
as if the field had meant to keep,
still he labored, working
each
until the stones at last released
For every rock that he would
find
was like a weight upon his mind,
and as he removed each heavy stone
his worries left him, one by one
Finally when all light had gone
he
sat down, reflected on
the fact he'd never took a rest
yet felt himself
uniquely blessed
As sweat rolled down his grimey face
he felt inside
a certain grace,
for worth instilled can't be replaced
he'd made his farm
a better place
He paused to look where he had been
the rocks were gone,
the rows were clean
and where there once were weeds and thorns
an inner
sense of pride was born
In the end his work was worth
every drop of
sweat, or rock he cursed
for as he paused, looked where he'd been
he'd
gladly do it all again
Though bone weary, deep inside
he felt accomplishment
and pride
knew every pain was plainly worth
the joy of doing honest work.
© d.knape
April 7, 2013
More "Once
Upon A Line" - Light verse and poetry by d.knape
Related Topics: Columns
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