You’d think after such a backbreaking day,
Eventful, within which all seasons compressed,
Sunny, cloudy, rainy, breezy, then sunny again,
The weary old man would sleep like a log!
Alas, no respite for the delicate body,
All night long, he twisted and he turned,
Half-awake, with intermittent wild dreams,
Between disobedient bathroom trips!
With the clarity of a silent night, save for,
An odd owl hoot here, a distant fox scream there,
His restless mind composed victory songs,
For a prospective autumn bumper harvest.
Putting the cart before the horse, perhaps,
Consequences of a fatigued mind and mass,
Now being incapacitated by the ungodly hour,
Then voila, it’s daybreak, time to rise and shine!