An uneasy restlessness grips me.
Finding no simple solution, I begin to probe deeper,
Touching tender places, bruised and sore,
Seeking the core, the roots.
On my knees I crouch low;
The hot sun scorches my back
And I sweat in the heat..
It's hard work,
Work that I'd rather leave for a more convenient season,
When the sun's rays weren't so hot,
And the ground was softened by rain.
But the angle of the sun tells me
I haven't much time,
So, I poke and sift, pinching off insects
And driving away the pesky birds and bunnies
That would harm my harvest.
My heart is cheered when I pause
and realize that the Lord of the Harvest
Is working close by.
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