“You reap what you sow”
they lament, they chant over and over again.
I did, I tilled the soil, I chose the seeds,
poured jugs of water over fertile plain, rock, sand; all-terrain.
I walked for miles roundabout in patches of garden,
I bent over, slipped, fell down,
pulled myself up, semi-propped;
so much work in the beginning.
I jerked up charming obnoxious weeds
so my plants could grow free.
I endured the elements and all the havoc
it brazenly wreaked upon me.
I shriveled like my crops some long days,
not sure how to reclaim my posture,
to stand up again, to indulge in the sun’s rays.
I found myself cursing aloud; madly I complained.
Softly, I cried; forever I was afraid.
What if I harness all this labor
but I’m not right for market?
What if I make it to the trading place
but all my fruit and flowers are outright rejected?
What if…
What if I just do my endeavor best
And I’m pleased within\with my HARVEST?
What if I provide enough nourishment
to enrich my body, to stock bushels of encouragement?
What if I have enough
to save some aside
to give weary travelers in need,
to further their own lifelines.
To reap what I sow
takes countless decisions of what to grow.
Only at the feast (or the famine), will I know
what my harvest is worth; what I take in tow
Jo Anna Bella
Poet at Heart
(c) 2003
Posted By: Jo Anna Bennerson
Thursday, January 21st 2010 at 9:09PM
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