Hold fast the weary day

The day has ended its demands. The sun has set. The fields
Have disappeared. The clinging earth on face and hands now yields
To water and to soap. The tools are put away and Shep
Is sleeping, curled beside the stove. I hear a slowing step
As Dad comes in. Same boyish smile, same hurried laugh—‘You bet!’
Thus ends the fading, tired, happy day. The sun has set.

All quiet now, the preening rooster, self-important hen.
The cats have crept away. The cows will not be milked again.
The time has come to simply sit around the stove and rock,
And swat at flies, content to be with family, and talk.
For all the doing of our lives, what matters is to be.
We change the world by what we are, not what we touch or see.
I am the field you worked and I remain the crop you sow.
I am the sum of what through you was helped to learn and grow.

The sun has set. If there are chores remaining, they will keep.
Hold fast the weary day, hold fast, not ready yet to sleep.
Hold fast the weary day, hold fast, not ready yet to sleep.