Black boots laden with dust,
Spade in hand he strode.
His silhouette, larger than life,
As he neared his humble abode.

Merry was the whistle of the breeze,
As it ruffled his unkempt hair.
Weariness knew not his torso,
Under the sinking sun’s glare.

He was greeted as he entered,
By his son’s cheerful yell.
His charming wife had a tempting smile,
In his heart she did dwell.

Tired you look Oh Dad!
And so very dirty too.
If I were to take your place,
Your job I never would do.

The innocuous remark made him laugh,
As he viewed the clouds above.
Let me relate said he,
Life’s hard facts to thou.

Life isn’t a bed of roses,
Nor is it a thorny path.
A mix judicious of sorrow and joy,
And that of peace and wrath.

Lamps of opulence that ceaselessly burn,
And renders the world so bright.
Hadn’t it been, for the ones who toil,
Would never have been in sight.

The luxuries that the mighty crave,
And the pleasures they enjoy.
Rest on the edifice of the commoners sweat,
My innocent little boy.

Dignity lies with every errand,
There isn’t a task that is mean.
Each one works by his fates decree,
Guided by the Almighty unseen.

Words of wisdom duly heard,
The boys face lit up with pride.
In his loving father he saw,
His friend, master and guide.