The Cotton Thread
Published in

The Cotton Thread

Love Labors Blind

Photo by Anaya Katlego on Unsplash

With every sinking of the shovel’s blade
Through soil’s dry crust into rich ground below,
Your broad back bent, your shoulders’ muscles flexing,
Trained to the work by past months moving snow,
Your silver beard stays clean–I don’t know how!–
Your hands, your face, your arms stay soil-free;
While I who layer compost into soil,
Have mud-streaks on my face, my arms, my knees.
Late afternoon’s bright sun illuminates
The hard work we both did and now we view…

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