GS (19/1/90 / birmingham (England))


I rise early with the lark,
Step out with the burning sun,
And walk the quiet earth.

I work hard the honest day,
And bask in the aching labour,
Sore and torn my hands become.

I sweat through these hours,
Relentless until the sun dips low,
And I queue to collect,
A pittance to show for labour.

I do not care for the money,
I do not care for blisters,
I do not care for ought besides this walk.

A walk ushered by the carrot, and not the stick.
A walk on broken feet and hard boots.
A walk where night air cools sweat upon my back.

I do not care for ought except this walk,
For I know its end:
Your open arms,
Your welcome embrace,
And your resplendent smile.

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