Hoeing farmer, as heat haze roils,
His flowing sweat waters the soil.
All those who know food on a plate
Should feel each grain comes of that toil.
NOTE: The title of this poem (悯农, or Mǐn Nóng) is often translated as “Toiling Farmers,” though “Compassion for Farmers” or “Pity Farmers” would be closer to the literal translation.
[Takes a deep breath…] policeman, food service worker, writer, editor, inspector, martial arts instructor, yoga instructor, laborer, project manager [/ cat-wrangler,] content developer… Those are the ones that spring to mind anyway.
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound --
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.
the stream carries sand,
dropping it in a broad pool,
clueless of its work.
The philosopher Hannah Arendt said, don't define us by how we make rent. like Dopey and Sneezy and George's wife "Weezy" one should be known for how public time is spent.
Radium Girls by Cy.
Taken in October of 2014 at Daulatabad Fort
As you enjoy your weekend, if at any point dread of the work-week to come arises, take a moment to reflect on the fact that at least you don’t have this guy’s job carrying stones on your head up several flight of uneven stone steps all day – everyday.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 