About Plowing Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

An old horse plows the well worn path
in rows where seeds are sown
slow, heavy footsteps bear the weight
from sweat and years of groans

Clop clop, clop clop he pushes on
nor strays to glance aside
till field and earth are black and fresh
with harvest hope supplied

I watch and wonder how this beast
knows when to slow and turn
to follow yet another groove
his daily meal to earn

I never followed any roads
or grooves, or paths or fields
I never did the same thing twice
nor planned for future yields

I was a fool for wayward ways
in dark forbidden groves
with twisted bands and thorny vines
that tore my soul and clothes

I harvested the bread of stones
and buttered it with woe
so different from that faithful horse
whose plowing made grain grow.