He tilled the fields from dawn to dusk
and felled some timber too
he kept the farm from going down
while years and decades flew
He's tired now - there's little left
in those old bones to guide
the timeworn plow and bent down horse
whose harness hangs untied
He still warms up a morning cup
though bitter is the brew
not like what she oft used to cook
when life was bright and new
He tries to take it like a man
since his dear wife passed on
keeps to himself on that front porch
and thinks of days long gone
He tilled the fields from dawn to dusk
and felled some timber too
he kept the farm from going down
while years and decades flew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem