Old Man in his Field

There’s such a pain

In the back and legs

In his field and the heat

When he works all day

An avalanche small

Has laid to waste

Land to be tilled

Sowed before the rains

Old and frail in his eighties

He sternly guides

The excavators working

To clear every stone

And rubble from his fields

A bund is to be built

To block the floods

Rushing down the hill

When it rains

People are employed

His sons are there

Yet he keeps on lending

A hand here and there

The back still aches

Legs in severe pain

Yet he won’t resign

And stay at home

It’s not just his life

It’s passion at play

He won’t ever lose it

To the advancing age