By Sandra Rose Hughes
Their knees are sore from kneeling–
In sand and clay and dust
They sow the seeds of love
The sun is hot, their backs are sore,
Their bag of seed is heavy.
Up and down the rows, they sow;
They pray for those they know.
Sometimes in moments, plants spring up-
The buds surprise them with their speed,
But sometimes they must sow and love,
And wait to no avail.
It breaks their backs and breaks their hearts
Again, again, again.
But they smile at each other and
They work the daylight hours.
For night is coming,
When none can work.
And if they work, and will not shirk,
The harvest will be glorious.