Rest beneath these watchful trees
Sheltered from both rains and rays
Welcome balm for agonies
Brought by endless plowing days.
Breathe the musk of ochre furrows
Rising from the fresh turned ground.
Watch the playful muskrats burrow.
Hear the crickets festive sound.
Regard the rows with satisfaction
Stretching toward the distant wood.
The work’s not done- not by a fraction
Even though the labor’s good.
Though I’d bask long, amid this splendor,
I’ve more toil yet to render.