After devouring every morsel in sight,
A feast to rival kings, it feels just right!
The morning sun's hunger waits at the door,
Eagerly craving a meal to adore.

No more food in our pantry begs to be eaten,
Patiently waiting, longing to be chosen.
The plates yawn with hunger and glee,
Anticipating the next meal to be.

Someone must work and swing the heavy ax,
Through the wood, to chop logs and gather stacks.
The kindling, carefully laid and secured,
Ensures that the warmth will long be endured.

The dirty manure, once thought of as waste,
Is cherished and hauled with careful haste.
It's spread in the fields, it's mixed in the earth,
And makes the crops strong with newfound worth.

No need for flashy machines and gadgets that whir,
Just the labor of hard work to compete and concur.
The music of nature and the sweat from our brow,
We toil through the day, without rest, until now.

Our tools need attention, our seeds must be sown,
Our sleeves are rolled up, our hands in the loam.
We work until dusk, and past the first light,
To reap a harvest so bountiful and bright.

The clanging of tools, the whistle of wind,
The caw of gulls and the buzz of crickets we've pinned.
Someone must remember times of good harvest days,
While others rush by, in their meaningless ways.

It's up to us to be bold and courageous,
To work hard for what we need, and be generous.
The lessons learned from dirt and sowing,
Will define our worth, and keep us knowing.

We'll pass on these lessons to future kin,
To plant more than we'll ever care to win.
So let's appreciate the earth and its offerings,
And all the growth that it will soon be proffering.