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Heads Bent Low

Anonymous

A stooped old man and a young man
Chanced to meet one day.
The young one said to the elder
In his usual braggart way,
"Why don't you walk up straight like me?
That's no way to grow old;
It's all a form of habit;
At least that's what I'm told."
The old man gave him a knowing look,
And said, "My dear young friend,
Have you ever examined your wheat field,
And noticed the heads that bend?
If not, just look them over
As harvest time draws nigh;
You'll find that the heads that are empty
Are standing tall and high,
But the heads that count in the harvest
Are filled and bending low,
Awaiting the reaper's sickle;
Their time is short, they know."
And as the young man passed on by,
He slowly bowed his head,
No doubt he pondered many a day
On the things the old man said.