The man puts his hand to the plough
He’ll make a living somehow
His family depends on him
Every season
to season
The man puts his hand to the plough
His shoulders
hung low now
Somehow he’ll find the strength
To go the extra length
The season came on quick
It takes determination
to stick
Monotonous row after row
At least it’s better than a hoe
His crops won’t come in late
If the elements cooperate
Year after year
the crop gave its yield
Now the ploughs rusting in the field
Time passed and left its mark
Invention went and found a spark
Trending
Now no man puts his hand to the plough
As the ploughs rust in the field with the cow
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Days gone by
Absolutely true. I can imagine my grandparents. Mules or horse hooked to the plow. From sunrise to sunset. My grandmother had a small hand push plow for her garden. I treasure it to this day in my own yard under a tree.