The Golden Plow

Copyright © 2013 Joseph Haymore

All rights reserved. ISBN-

13: 978-1482503067

ISBN-10: 1482503069

Some many, many years ago,

When people farmed so food might grow,

No one lived by a grocery store

In order to go buy some more.

They had to grow their food to live.

If they grew lots, they’d share or give.

The children helped around the farm.

They gathered wood to keep it warm.

They’d help their Dad to till the dirt

Or help their Mom by mending skirts.

When everybody helped just right,

Then all the work would seem so light.

They’d work all through the early day

And still have lots of time to play.

But, if they saved their work for late,

There’d be no food upon their plate

Because the jobs did not get done.

The food would not feed everyone.

On one such farm there was a lad

That did not like the jobs he had.

He did not want to chop the wood

Or feed the chickens as he should.

He did not like to milk the cow

Or drive the horse that pulled the plow.

The only thing to keep him true

Was father’s ever watchful view.

But, sometimes father wasn’t home,

Which left the lazy boy to roam.

The boy would pass beyond the gate,

And, by the lane, he’d sit and wait.

He’d sit among the wooded trees

And hope a passerby he’d see.

He loved to watch the country path

And dream of errant warriors’ wrath,

Or princes traveling to see

The whole wide world’s majesty.

From time to time there’d come a day

When somebody would pass his way

And, hoping not to slow their dance,

He’d hide amongst the brush and plants.

He only wished to not be seen

In case they were uptight or mean.

It just so happened one such time,

When dad had heard the church bell chime,

He left to see the priest in need,

Which left the boy alone indeed

To seed the thoughts of idol dreams.

He made his way along the streams.

Just as he found his normal perch,

There past a man amongst the birch.

He led a mule of little weight

Which pulled a cart with covered freight.

The boy, in thought of what could be,

Tried leaning out around the tree.

The tree could not sustain his lean,

And so the boy could now be seen.

Quite suddenly the man had stopped.

The rope that led the mule, he dropped.

And now the boy knew he’d been found.

And so he lay low on the ground.

“Young boy,” he said, “come out and see.

I have a gift to give to thee.”

The boy stood up to meet his fate.

He wished he’d stayed inside the gate.

He feared the man would do him harm

Or chase him back onto his farm.

But to his honest, sweet surprise,

The man uncovered for his eyes

What he had sitting on his cart.

The boy stood gazing. For his part

He’d never seen a thing as bold.

It was a plow made out of gold.

The old man said, “This plow is yours

So long as you will do your chores.

There’s one more thing I need to say

Before I send you on your way.

For if you fail to keep my trust,

This golden plow will turn to dust.

“This plow leaves magic in the earth

Of greater price than gold is worth.

Just whisper what you want to grow,

And as you plow the food will show.

Just don’t grow food to please yourself,

Or you’ll be cursed with barren shelf.

“It only works on others’ land.

So, lend your friends a helping hand.

If you will plow your neighbors’ fields,

They’ll send you back the excess yields.

In serving others, you’ll be blessed

With more than crops to fill your chest.

“This plow cannot be bought or sold

Despite the fact it’s made of gold.

So, when you’re old and near the grave,

Go find another life to save.

Go find the soul who must deserve

The blessed gift to learn to serve.”

And just like that the man was gone.

He left the boy to think upon

His new found gift and what he’d do

To keep the promise tried and true.

The boy sat down to think a bit

But quickly stood and said, “That’s it.”

He said, “It’d sure be awfully rude

To never, ever taste the food

That such a magic plow could grow.

If I don’t work, I’ll never know.”

And so the boy set to the task

To find someone whom he could ask.

He only needed a fresh field

To test what crop the plow could yield.

And so he found, along the lane,

A simple field that looked quite plain. The

earth had not been turned to sew. The

boy thought, “Here, I’ll surely know.”

He pulled his cart up to the spot

To find the home that owned the lot.

And there it was along the trees.

Smoke from the home blew in the breeze.

That told him that someone was there

To answer his petition rare.

He neared the house, feeling quite strange,

To ask if he could plow their range.

Before he placed his fist to wood,

The door swung open. There she stood.

A fine young girl about his age

Who looked like heaven, smelled of sage.

The girl was shocked by the surprise.

The boy just stared into her eyes.

He quickly found the words to speak

And told her what he‘d come to seek.

“I’ve come to plow your vacant field

To see what my new plow will yield.”

The young thing filled with more surprise

As tears filled up her lovely eyes.

“My father is not feeling well,”

Said the young woman looking pale.

“That’s why our field has not been sewn.

That’s why our food has not yet grown.

“Until you came, it’s been our fear

we’d have no food to eat this

year.”

The girl stretched out and hugged the boy,

Which filled his soul with love and joy.

He asked what they would like to grow

And then went back to plow and sew.

He did just as the old man said

And whispered what was in his head.

And, as he opened up the ground,

He heard behind him a strange sound.

He turned to look, and in the row

Was all the food he’d thought to grow.

He did not stop tilling the dirt,

Not even when his fingers hurt,

But dug up all the open space

Which filled with food in every place.

He then harvested what had grown,

A bigger haul than he had known.

The family had not room to keep

The food that they were blessed to reap.

And so they filled the young boy’s cart

And shared with him their thankful heart.

And from that day the young boy tried

To help all those in need he spied.

He’d do his work by early day,

Then haul his golden plow away

To help his neighbors with their farms.

Then, he’d return with food filled arms.

That’s how he chose to live his life.

That’s even how he met his wife.

He lived this way until the end

And made innumerable friends.

His life was full so many ways,

In all, because he chose, those days,

To serve and work through sweat and tears.

And so he lived for many years.

For as he served his friends in need,

He received more than food indeed.

For gratitude was in his heart,

But, more the point, he lived the art

That when you give to others of

Yourself, you’re surely filled with love.