This is a chore;
I’m not sure what joy there is in chores.

I suppose–
There are tasks in the world that must be done.
Chopping wood
to stay warm in the cold dead of winter
Planting seeds
to have wheat for the autumn bread
Laying bodies to rest in the ground
so others live above
And that’s the Crux
The living.
So we do our chores,
and perhaps the joy comes after.