Will I be working staunchly in the fields,
Sweat dripping stead'ly from my furrowed brow,
With calloused hands clasped firmly to the plow,
And feet that trod to gain eternal yields?
When coming on the clouds, will Christ resound
With words, "Well done, my good and faithful slave—
You have accomplished all my hand hath gave!"
Oh, how I hope to hear that wondrous sound.
Or, like some bumbl'ng fool, shall I be found
Pursuing fleeting pleasures with what strength
He's given me for testing in this length,
Then watch as wiser men than I are crowned?
Great joy hath he who humbly works the land,
Receiving treasures from the Master's hand.
This poem was a finalist in the April 2023 poetry contest