The young man profusely sweating momentarily ceases his backbreaking work
Removes his large skullcap
And wipes his brow with a dank kerchief.
Two more hours, he thinks,
Then Shabbat--clean clothes and rest.
No matter, It is good to work God's land.
The other man--older, potbellied, wiser perhaps,
Also decides to break briefly.
He drops to his knees, and, admiring his groves, slips into meditation.
Engulfed by the sweet, tangy, fresh-citrus frankincense
He evokes the memory of the first time his tree bore fruit.
A thin smile escapes his pursed lips.
Indeed, It is good to work Israel's land.