Man vs. Machine

November 25, 2008
By
Man vs Machine


The man toils the land

With a broken, blistered hand

He plants crops in the ground

He puts them in with a pound

As he waits for them to grow

He watches for all the crows

He picks the crops with friends

The toil is never to end

He dreams of a better way

To reap a harvest day

The plow has taken his place

It moves with speed and grace

The seeds are sewn in much

Land and space and such

That the farmer can toil less

And relieve some of his stress

But the crops are too small

To produce for all

So chemicals they bring in

And fill the larger bin

People consume the crop

Then lives begin too drop

That which was toiled by hand

Covers the farmer by land





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Abbie said...
Sept. 6, 2009 at 6:58 pm
Great poem!!
 
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