Trudging up and down a hill
(Having always to refill)
Our hands with some hopeless trees
In scorching weather a billion degrees!

We trudged through morning and through day
Not even getting any pay!
We killed our feet and broke our backs
Dumping rebar in towering stacks!

You may be asking “what’s going on”
The answer, my friend, is our extended lawn.

After arriving at our brand new home
Our parents discovered a hill of loam!
They thought it was a wonderful find
They were, in fact, out of their mind!

They figured they’d change the environmental look
This is a horrible thing, in their book!
They decided to plant in, a nice olive tree
And hired us, since we work for no fee!

Us kids figured, “Okay, one isn’t so bad”
An afterward-examine made agreeing sound bad!
For that one little tree
Was actually eight-hundred to be!

And then it begin, our tiresome toil
For quitting right then, would be quite un-loyal!
We began to purchase the trees, all eight-hundred!
(I still haven’t a clue, how all that was funded.)

But it happened anyway
And on one frightful day
The real work began!

Five was the altogether, total sum
Of the people who helped, and those who would come
We started at morning, with not any breaks
At carrying and pounding in rebar stakes.

As three-O-clock came, we started to flee
Whether the ‘rents liked it or not, finishing was up to me!
I looked at the hill, very sourly
And scoffed at the thought of “an orchard to be”

The rebar stood stiff, holding up those trees-of-torture
Then a new thought, hit me, just like a scorcher!
Maybe my parents were right about this
I then thought nah, but that sure would be bliss!

Five years later those memories are hazy
And I am still very very lazy
But I have learned something, I’ll remember forever
Never trust parents, and I mean NEVER!

But the trees look great, and the hill is quite a sight
The thought of the work though, is still a great fright.
But now we may be earning our work back
For now we can make profit from that pay that we lack

We finally got olives, enough to make oil
And out comes the beauty that came from our toil
And in that silver cloud, that is the line
But now our parents intend to make wine!