Day after day of meaningless toil in the dirt.
An accumulation of depression and moral hurt.
Endless plowing on the infinite land.
Repetition of side to side motions, scythe in hand.
Work began in the fields at the earliest dawn.
A start so early, one couldn't yet yawn.
During the day the shadow of the farm grew long.
At sunset a shadow's length was nearly 100 feet strong.
Like the ghost of a farmer he worked as a silhouette into the night.
Moving like a mechanical corpse of motionless fright.
You could sense his invisible spirit still labouring in the field.
It was impossible to see him as darkness was his shield.
His motivation to continue was unknown to us.
He would never complain or begin to fuss.
These unknown men are now forgotten as time passes by.
Their true purpose on earth we will never know why.