With his concrete hard hands
For many hopeful vain years
Of course laying claim
To only two sweat worn out shirts
He paid those excruciating fees
With his balanced diet
Fed that mouth with hot beads of sweat
Clothed that body from meagre wages
And guarded him with his life
Where is the price of bitter sowing?
Becoming nothing
To raise the seed of hope
Praying Demeter smiles
At this fruitful doomed seed
The sun shone brightly for harsh years
As the seed grew into a tree
Hope yes beautiful hope for the sower
Days of succor are nigh
For my tired vibrating hands
The nation calls for the tree
To taste its fruits for just a dozen month
While the callers have their Irokos and Mahoganies
Thriving well in fertile faraway farms
The sower lets go reluctantly
The fruits on the tree coming out still green
With the sower salivating expectantly
For the fruitful day of harvest
But alas! the tree was axed down
By deranged lumberjacks
Alas! Ares struck
All gone with the air
Funneled down into the gallons of tears
The harvest now a a minute silence
A paycheck for the torrid sacrifice
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