Graphic by MamaBear
His Good Time
There’s something rather inviting here,
If some work doesn’t scare you away.
A lot of us think that running a farm,
Is just a big place we can play.
But the work begins before sunrise,
When the coffee is still not awake,
And it doesn’t let off til you sit in the shade,
And sharpen your tools on your break.
Then you finish your work with the last fading rays,
And you put things away in the dark.
The sound of an “ouch” is the signal you've found,
That wheelbarrow you forgot to park.
I don’t want to imply that there is no reward,
You can eat all you want that you’ve grown.
And there's nothing that adds to the flavor more,
Than to know it’s from seeds that you’ve sewn.
And you’ve watched your partner helping,
And you’ve thanked Him with all of your heart.
For He sent all the rain, and the sun in its time,
And you know that He’s earned a big part.
It’s ironic, you note from your window,
As He irrigates crops far and near.
You get your results by hard work every day,
While He takes His good time to appear.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . June 8, 2005
