A/N: A pastoral lyric. I think this was supposed to be "happy," but my poems never turn out "happy."

I have so long toiled in the fields
And the labor by my hands
Produces such meager yields
I fear I shan’t return home again.

How I long to see her face
And glimpse my children’s smiles
I fear I will not leave this place
To return to my home awhile.

Sun and labor harden by brow
And their smiles fade away.
My home is long forgotten now
And only poems shall stay.