Crops, like children, do not grow
The same from year to year;
We do our best, but even so,
We watch each one in fear

For all those things that may go wrong:
From slower growth, or faster —
The fear that which we’ve loved so long
Will fall upon disaster —

Yet both are raised because of love:
Of mind, and heart, and soul —
With help that’s often sought above
For all we can’t

Control