Clods of dark brown earth break
With each determined thrust of boot and blade.
Revealing in the core of warmed embrace
Some small and welcome fruit of labour made.
Roots of month-long summer toil
Lie exposed in conquered disarray
And sit, hard won, on frozen winter soil.
I smile. We shall be fed yet again today.
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/labour-s-reward/
