hold my yoke

I’m holding up,

so much more than I can carry.

I’m no ox,

and I’m no beast,

for I carry not a plow.

But I burden under time’s command,

bent double under stress.

My back bows and shoulders hunch.

My neck strains and muscles bunch.

Yet you see not my effort.

I’m not built to burden.

I’m not made to carry this.

So know my pains

and hold my yoke

if only for a moment.