An old and wrinkled man, with his back bent
from years of toil and hard work, leant
hard on a cane that was as gnarled and twisted
as that same man who stood there and listed
each and every horrid person place and thing
that had done him wrong, and there had been,
in his long tour around the sun, many heartbreaks,
which are often shown in his odd groan and ache.
He stands thoughtful in the glare of that great star
counting these pains, in his wheat fields not so far
from the home where once lived his beautiful wife,
now dead, and a son, now at war. All this strife
he listed now, and thanked for, because when he hurt,
and pain he felt, and when he fell now to the dirt,
he knew that he would rise again.