While kneeling in the morning sun, digging in the dirt.
Looking for a tunnel, sweat seeps through my dirty shirt.
Maggies gone to the Great Beyond; from some a hearty fare thee well.
Miners sit with hungry souls; their hope is that she rots in Hell.
We all have our own job to do, our interests vary greatly.
Some jobs serve the greater good, some just serve the stately.
It matters not what job we're given, be it big or small.
Lets hope the job that fills our day is good for one and all.
This garden we live in, the farm that we tend, lowly tenants are we.
Seasons fly by us, time passes our door; no clue as to what will to be.
When the springtime arrives we're but one bag of seeds.
When the harvest arrives there will be flowers and weeds.
While kneeling in this morning sun, digging in the soil,
I smiled a secret knowing smile, this gardening is worth the toil.
It's life at its best having not an equal; we are farmers and plants all in one.
We send our roots deep into the soil, while stretching our limbs in the sun.
In a coal mine it's dark as a cave, the dampness chills to the bone.
In a castle it’s cloistered, confining and friendless, such a curse is the lofty throne.
It doesn't matter a lick if you’re slow or your quick; or if you are rich or poor.
What will matter most is what you will do, when the harvester comes to your door.~Jay Olson
