The Tiller of the Ground
Day and night I work the soil,
For I am cursed to work the ground.
In the fields I burn the midnight oil,
For to my plow I am bound.
To my bed I hope to retire,
But the ground brings forth futility.
So Daily I cut down the thorn and briar.
Still the weeds exploit my inability.
I strive to take control if the land.
It is my possession, it is mine!
Yet still it disobeys my reprimand.
And the landscape I can’t refine.
Day and night I work the soil,
For I am cursed to work the ground.
And the object of my toil,
Is the grave to which I am bound.
Copyright © Daniel Carter | Year Posted 2016
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