The chilling heat of the morning sunshine
Glistened through the leaves of the aged grape vine;
I passed through the garden to seek out a man
With hands cracked with dirt and skin touched by tan.
Dozens of sacks beside him there stood
Packed full of new seed; and plant it we would
Before blue skies had the sun at its height,
Which brightens wheat fields with sharp golden light.
Handfuls of kernel I stuffed in the bag
Which swung by my side and started to sag.
Steadily, I walked up --- and down as I
Dropped seed for black soil plowed in July.
Blazing white sunlight now burned all around;
I took off my shoes --- forced my toes in the ground
In attempt to cool my aching pale feet;
I step on black earth; so cool and so sweet.
Tired --- he asked me as he passed me a cap,
This work is too rough and sun heat’s a slap.
You’re better off wondering off to the shade;
I’ll toil for you now, go drink lemonade.
He stretched out his hand to take ‘way my strife
Although weary from toiling his whole life
His aging face wrinkled but body still stout;
I hand him my bag and wonder about.
I glance back at the man that toils for me
Uttering not a single whine nor a plea
Turning my body, I walk to the ocean,
Cross over to shade without a commotion.
I, destined to life of scorching hard labor
Now lavish in feasts accomplished by favor.
I stand on high ground with world as my oyster
And mourn for the man that’s facing disaster.
