The sun slumps down behind the hill
The thought of dinner sends a thrill.
The cuyes squeak, the cock still squawks,
But now it's time to stop the clock.
The earth lodged deep beneath the nails
reminds me of what this life entails.
The land provides at day's end,
but doesn't always feel a friend.
We pull, we plow, we dig, we pick,
hard and steady, although not quick.
The back's a-hurtin', the feet are sore,
Though long the day, there's always more.
But for now, it's time to rest,
Close the gate, lock the barn, take a breath.
Eat, sleep, recharge for when
we'll rise up early and start again.