Young Tillers Poem by Je'free Y .

This is the land of potentials.
You can tell because the cultivated soil,
With new crops for harvest, is so fertile,
Producing a bounty of grains and fruits.
It makes you pray summer be not too harsh
That the greenness does not turn to embers;
Nor rainy season be not too furious,
Violently flooding the lushness of earth.

Amidst the fields, the kids, sowing seeds
From dawn until the early dusk,
Forget about family, friends, childhood,
With only dreams of labor and survival.
The heavens alone witness their sweating
In the peak of the scorching sun.
Skin turned copper yet their industry
Persists in silence. I call them the Young Tillers.

From season to season, where do they get
Their energy to acclimate and relentlessly toil?
And I remember how the aged farmers,
Once, were also young.

Oh you, young tillers of today -
The world is fed by blistered palms of labor,
Full because of weary souls that refuse to rest,
Obese because of the bottomless stomach of man.