The Ox Wagon
1 min readJun 24, 2019
The oxen walk through the land,
Patient, considerate, merciful;
The yokes, now pressing their collars -
Are soothing and agreeable
Quietly, pushing and bumping
The wagon pulled behind
The dull red dust already rushing,
carried on the wind.
The afternoon sun climaxes on their heads
Bent on brute power pull
They swing back and forth in the slings -
The journey far for the day
It pierces through the breaking parts:
the grade is steep and heavy
It cracks in the wood knuckles
Burden and cargo deliver there.
So, dumb to the time of dying,
each remains a hero of the task
Their bones, feeble after wandering,
lies collapsed on the far fields, beyond
