There was a war going on. Men fought, women brought food to the soldiers day and night, and cared for the wounded. Only old people and children remained in the village.
One old man, taking an old plow, was turning it, repairing it and humming something monotonously. His wife said to him with annoyance:
-You have a heart of stone! The sons have entered into mortal combat, the whole village is in mourning, your comrades are thinking about the fate of the village, and you know, you are repairing the plow, and even - as soon as your soul bears it - you are humming a song. Someone would ask, for whom are you trying? Tomorrow the enemy will come here, he will kill you, and us, and take the plow.
- Eh, woman, what are you saying? They'll kill us, but won't they kill the plow? I build - I don't destroy. The world rests on the plow: if we stay alive, the plow will be useful to us, but if we die, perhaps the love of work will awaken in the one who carries it away. He will also bless me. We don't know what's what in this world.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru