The Work He Had Begun - A short poem by me

The Work He Had Begun

The wire reared back
And bit him on the arm
Its fangs tearing into his soft elbow
A two-inch gash, almost to the bone
Dripping steaming strength onto the ground
Barely even wincing from the strike
He carried on the work he had begun.

Stopping to touch or clean the wound
Would have merely made his mind forget his mission:
To tighten, straighten, string and clip the outer line
He wiped the dust and sweat from off his face
The clouds were coming in quite close
Taunting him, daring him
To finish up the work he had begun.

This city boy was not made for this abuse
His limbs and joints all aching
His frame shook from the strain and stress
Despite the rain beating back his every move
This stranger to that labor trudged on
If he didn’t do it, nobody else would
And it had to be done, the work he had begun.