I was thinking about my Grandfather who tilled the land into his eighties and who i had great admiration for.


Sweat And Endless Toil

He'd spent his time, both boy and man
Through sweat and endless toil
Just as those who passed before him
To make a living from the soil

Three score and some,had come and gone
While he had worked this land
And though not rich in money terms
His memories were grand

Through fields of gold, and pastures green
The seasons took there toll
His calloused hands were testament
To the achievement of his goal

Now as he looked around him
From the knoll on which he stood
He felt his time on earth well spent
And that alone was good

And now his son would take the reigns
To work upon the soil
To rest his wearied frame at last
From sweat and endless toil.



Poetry by penfold18
Read 539 times
Written on 2005-12-10 at 11:44

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Albert
An Excellent work, loved the flow the contents and the visual picture of the old boy lovingly tending his land.

Well done,
Regards
Albert
2005-12-10


Zoya Zaidi
That was alovely tribute to grandpa,
who all his life toiled away,
I wish he was there to see
the tribute his grandson had to pay...

(((((Hugs Pen from grandpa's side)))))
xxx, Love, Zoya
2005-12-10