The world does not know his name,
but every morning the farmer rises before dawn.
His home is no glamorous castle or palace;
devoid of treasures and ever the nobility's scorn.
His lot is nature's refused,
an endless wasteland that can melt a warrior's spirit.
Still the farmer plows in heat and snow,
praying for a healthy harvest and economic profit.
As the seasons change, his grief multiplies;
for the locust and windstorms leave nothing to glean.
Heroes and fools would yield to despair,
instead the farmer ventures out to rebuild a dream.
A farmer's life . . . punishment or curse?
He would say neither, it's the will of G-d.
Osee Benjamin Edwards
The farmer
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment