Plowing Hope

Each dawning sun
brings expectations
that prior daybreaks
failed to live up to.

Regardless, we plow
our furrows sowing
crops to harvest,
storing grain for seed.

Is it not human nature
to discard the past
with understanding
that we face potential?

"These seedlings
will feed my children's
children though I may
never see their fruition."

And so it goes,
from disappointment
to blind hope,
springing eternal.

And why not?
Should man sink
with every step
he takes in the bog?

Hell no, not ever!
If he has the guts
to hope he has the way
out of the mire.

He will drain the swamp
and render it fertile,
raising sustenance
from rotting carcases.

So as he follows behind
the working horse he lifts
his head to the rising sun:
"Today is grand, indeed!"