WHEN I SHALL GO HOME

The clock is ticking
The sun hastens down the aisle
The day is fast falling apart
And my bed may not wait the dawning

On so many things have my hands fallen
To witness this resilient voice harkened
To fill the basket of a taskful fate
To prepare for the dawning of the night

When my eyes shall close on eternal sleep
When my beauty shall rob the makeup of the hungry earth
And my flesh a feast to a host of aggressive worms
When I shall go home

But not now; the home is yet in the distance
The sun is just beginning to rise
The harvest is ripe but not gathered
And the field is soothe up in enduring Labour

I shall work my field
The yard must be tended
And fruits plucked to satisfy the thirst of the yawning
Before...I go home