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He planted the seed, hoping for bounty uncountable
Days went by, the soil mockingly dry
He walked the land, pleading with the skies for rain
That the seedlings might shoot up and bring forth fruit

Autumn fell so he toiled to bring in his puny harvest
Sweat framing his brow as he cleared the empty rows
Sickle slicing away and then, a crack irreparable
Jingling an empty purse, he railed at the heavens

Head bowed, bashing the earth; he bemoaned his fate
Cursing the evil ground that rued the day
His eye caught a sheen; a dull and yellow nugget
Hope springs eternal; what if, perhaps, maybe

Quietly visiting the pawnbroker’s
Ignoring the jibes from many a passerby
He staked his claim and harvested a goldmine
Thanking his stars for dry clouds and frail tools