Joe’s Woes

Three birds approached Joe the Farmer
Last summer—
“Give us some feed,
We are famished,”
They pled.
“I’m afraid I have no feed,
But seeds for the field,”
He pled.
“Let’s have the seeds,
We are hungry,”
They begged.

“Seeds for the field?
Lemme sow them,
So, we reap in winter,”
He pled.
“No, we might just die before winter,”
They begged.
So, Joe’s seeds with the birds parted,
And the days grew long,
The sun burned bright,
But time passed,
The earth cracked,
And Joe toiled alone,
While the birds flew far away.

Alas, winter came and birds returned—
“Give us some feed,”
They pled,
“We are starving,
The cold bites deep,”
They begged.
“I have neither feed,
Nor seed,
Nor field,”
He pled.
“You, slothful hand—
What did you during summer?”
“Grieving my seeds,
And feed,
And field,”
He pled.

So goes Joe’s woes,
As he bled—
His heart heavy with regret,
For what was given,
What was lost,
And what could have been,
All swept away by time’s cruel wind.