The Son of Soil

Dancing in the fading embers
Light clung to her weathered face
Providing visibility
To shape her sons future

The utensils worked the mound
Of butter like gold
Aching with use
They pounded the table

As she kneaded she prayed
For opportunity,
For education
To transform the son of soil

Spinning words into coin
At the lonely market stall
Pennies graciously stowed
Her pockets swelled

Traveling for several miles
Framed by undulating countryside
Wheels turned to the homestead
To her son, her boy