The Sun

To see the sun
I need two hours work first
To get things done
My voice is hoarse with thirst

These early hours with no word
Only me, and my thoughts of yesterday
Not a sound from a bird
Ants, noisy, crawling in the fray

My choice was not a tie and collar you see
I chose days in the sun
I chose dirt, stress, responsibility
I chose the sun

And though filthy when at my door
Though my hands bear scars
Proud i am of being sore
For I create concrete art and protect tars

For what is a man but the scars on his hands?
What are we but products of History?
I chose the sun
Let it shine gloriously

7 August 2007

by Jude's Child

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