Squeeze It Dry Poem by James McLain

She found her place on the seat, so low,
With purpose clear and face aglow,
Her hands held tight, her will in tow,
To make the stubborn essence flow.

She pressed with might, she pushed with care,
Her strength unfurling, unaware,
Each fiber tensed, a challenge there,
To wring the last drop from its lair.

The task was hers, the day grew long,
Yet still she hummed a quiet song,
For in this strain, she felt so strong,
A labor earned, where none belong.

And when at last the work was done,
She rose, victorious, having won,
A moment's peace beneath the tree's
Her triumph in the fading sun.