to grow a few greens, so he tends it religiously
on his knees.
The summer sun's hot, but it doesn't show
in his clothes (grimy grey coveralls,
the same ones he wears when it snows)--
though beneath the brim of his blue cotton cap
beads of sweat bulge on his brow,
running into his eyes as he looks down:
He touches tender plants with his hands,
each a small child. He is father to them,
husband to the land,
savior to man.
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