Writ in wrinkles and etched in tears
And told in the curve of the old bent backs,
—Bent in the strife with the rocky soil,
When the grinding work was never done,
With just one rift in the cloud of toil:
—‘Twas all for the sake of their only son.
Simply a tedious legal maze
With neighbors stirring the thing for sport,
too.
And loungers eyeing with listless gaze