Through years of pounding fields
Tendons withered, sinews weakened
Wrinkles lined scorched complexion
His temple no longer resisted
Painful beatings of fervid rays
Dimmed beneath his tousled gray
Visions faded, sights blurred
Both lost their lustrous glow
A million dust stained, rusted
The windows of his soul
'Til when he would live?
Time's fleeting, days hastily passing
To rest - his utmost fright
Few more days he begged
To finish what left undone.
None would harrow those unplowed
Fruits unpicked, wheat unmowed
None would care to harvest
Live more days, yield
To feed gazillion starves