A Plowman's Epitaph
I want to say a personal "thank you,' to you, if you are a farmer or know someone who is a farmer, because in my view, they are all priceless members of our society.
What would it be like to sit down at my dining table and there were nothing to eat? Horrible, I can answer that.
But for many men, women, and children across our world mostly in third-world countries who experience this tragic sight each mealtime comes.
I urge you to join me in a campaign to "cut back" a little each time a meal is served. That way, food won't be wasted and just possibly, a few more hungry people will be fed.
It all starts with me.
Thanks again, farmers.
In honor of our plowmen and farmers
Mander, pander, garden and hoe
Sweat, grime, glory and soul
Pain, rain, dream and sing
Shadow, wallow, plan and pan
Daybreak, God's sake, penny and pride
Wife, life, children and strife
Blood, water mud, and cattle cud
Worn shoes, blues, raven as he flew
Bread, bed, light, groping for sight
Age, rage, elder sage, what have I to hold?
Thorns, corns, scars and briers
Useless words no one heard, why am I so old?
Stench, death the wench, her twinkle in shaky hand I clinch
Coffin, walking, sing and sag
Winter bitter, sore and lag
Dim sight, no sunlight, clothes of ragged rag
Glimpse, crimps, goodbye, no more
Salt, sugar, snuff, my patches tore
Wind sharp, angel's harp, my last open door
Gone, bone, candle born, silent horn
Vapor mist, exhausted-kiss, a dying fist
Flowers, towers, applause is sick
Preaching, beseeching, willow be dead
Dreams, beams, willow be dead
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