another reblog of a poem and subject
that have been on my mind these past
few weeks. hope you enjoy it.
there is a moment
in the darkness which is my waking hour,
that i realize these bones are older than i remember
shallow muscles ache more than they should…still,
i rise to the occasion. i get up
because that’s what i do,
there is work to be done and coffee to brew.
because work is what i know.
i was taught early lessons in sweat, and
the value of honest labor.
and i thought only i’d heard the
rooster’s faint crow from a distant farm,
but there is rustling in the bedrooms.
the rest of US are rising to an occasion too,
it’s what they’ve known…so we sip
our fresh brewed, congratulate Scout’s parents
on their anniversary yet they choose to celebrate
this moment, their long and loving history
talking of work that needs completion, during breakfast.
‘so, you’ve been married three years less than i’ve lived?’,
and i’m 58 now….so yes, we’ve all brought our considerable
history and collection of tools here to our farm, an old house
certainly deserves repair. because all of US hear the
fading echoes of those who’ve walked these creaky floors.
THEY, who gave life
and love and their sweat of honest labor.
that even during the Great Depression somehow
scratched out a living doing whatever was needed to
keep this farm, this family alive, because day after weary day
they got up, and rose to their occasion.