Farm Chores, They Sure Aren'T a Glowing Parade

Farm Chores, They Sure Aren't A Glowing Parade Brutal cold cuts into young tender skin, winter arrives with its hard cold and more. No time to complain- NOT IF we are men, farm child, time to wake, do the daily chores! Up before the sun makes it first day's peep into savage cold, hard cold, to morn's work. Cutting blasts, such bitter cold one could weep, we had best get it done, no time to shirk. Chills eat into hungry brain this day, no breakfast, working until cold-sun fades. Why gripe, matters not whatever I say, farm chores, they sure aren't a glowing parade! Brutal cold cuts young tender skin this morn. Such pain, methinks better not to be born! R.J. Lindley December 12th, 1965 Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 Total # Syllables: 140 Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines) Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: Total # Words: 112 Note: From my private journals. My oldest surviving poem (a sonnet), written at age eleven. And based upon my life on the farm and the very trying hard times we lived and survived. Edited slightly before posting to meet the uniformed ten syllable count.