Barefoot and defiant.
Scooping leaves.
With the wretched fork.

For hours I make noise.
Glaring at every color.
From my disgruntled poise.

Tilling the earth.
Like an angry crone.
I moan and groan.
My heart full of stone. 

As each mountain I raise.
Is followed by another ired sigh.
And my lack of praise.
Piles high.