Under that blazing sun and dusky vibes,
the hands those run carelessly for a price,
those tiring breaks that makes them gaze,
with sweat that trickles across the brow,
wets the soil so barren with foil,
for every drop gives reason to his flight,
earns him a worthy place in his plight,
making him wonder among the tombs,
helps him breath of freshly air,
and never to look back at those heartening cries.
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