Yoke
A mass of raindrops and flying insects arose,
More interested in sweat than the fruits of labor,
Not that I’ve been much different lately.
In gentle awe of callouses and motion,
We treat the yoke as chariot,
and trudge on.
2 thoughts on "Yoke"
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I love those last two lines!
“yoke as chariot”, as if doing so to convince ourselves to keep trudging forward–very insightful. Nice writing, Nollie.