Journey’s end
Published 10:45 pm Tuesday, October 28, 2008
We, having struggled since Spring
Against the odds that nature throws against us
Have long last reached that cherished destination
So desired by those who work the soil.
We, having waded through broken bolts and busted bearings,
Through dust and grease and sweat and swearing,
Against invading armies from the fields
Who view our crops as evening meals.
We, mere mortals, constrained by fleshly desires,
Raised clenched fist against the waterless skies,
And dreamed of thunderstorms galore,
While thirsty soils asked for more.
At long last — with victorious grin —
We can say, “The crop is in!”
Who can know such rapturous delight?
Who will celebrate tonight?
Who will finally take a break,
And ponder all he had at stake?
‘Tis he who sits in evening chair,
Lets out his breath with vacant stare,
Dismisses stress from weary bones
And reflects while his muscles moan.
“A good year,” one could hear him say,
With eyes half shut and light at bay.
And nodding off with ne’er a fear,
He dreamed of what he’d plant next year.