See him toil, each day drudgery's slave. Sweat from his brow, salts the soil below. Strained, taut muscles work him to the grave. Repetition, till fruits of labor show. Not long ago, twas a labor of love. Passion propelled this bondman each day, Fixated on her; none else to speak of. Work's end, nightfallen in her arms he'd lay. Taken away, this workman's course grows long. Tears salt the mud below; empty and bare. Now toil and grind altogether wrong; His quest, their dreams; unfit lacking her there.
Reason for writing:
Hard working man showing his love for his lady with labor... only to have her taken away
Birth sign: Not entered
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