My Father's Care

The binder glittered in the sun,
Its new paint fed our hungry eyes,
The servant hid beneath the lies—
My father was the honest one.

He sat high up upon the seat
And rode the binder, saw it thrust
Its sickle teeth through clouds of dust
To cut and bind the field of wheat.

It was a noisy tireless thing
That mocked the frailty of our flesh,
Though chains would break and cogs unmesh
My father ruled it like a king.

He always kept it in a shed
To save it from the rusty touch
Of time; he would not do as much
To save himself; I wish he had.