The corn was weedy, I was hot
And feeling very low;
I asked my dad if I could rest,
His quick response was, no.
You've just begun, now take your time
And finish out that row.
Just hone your hoe, then turn and start
The next one, there below.
To soon, I was out on my own,
Watching my family grow;
Becoming very much aware
Of all life's rows to hoe.
Came illness, debts and storms and wars
That fates of life bestow.
I thank you dad, you steered me straight;
I've sharpened up my hoe.
We, in our waning years, await
Life's final afterglow;
Content at last, for now we have
Just one more row to hoe.
Indeed, what a lovely poem this is. Takes me back also. Enjoyed quite a few of yours. You may enjoy mine: Hand Haying. Thanks for your kind comment on Prolonged Sorrow. Adeline
Beautifully written, Joe, and I want to thank you for taking me back many years ago when I was taught how to hoe. Learning scale is not very hard when you learn in the manner of your poem. Just a great write. Your friend in poetry, Lynn.
What a beautiful poem Joe, What a God given talent you have.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How beautiful. Simply made my heart leap for the perfect analogy given here. The metaphor, contents, and message -all come together perfectly for a fine message. I've had to hoe the veggie gardens too. But am yet hoeing the garden of life. Thanks to your dad for this one.10