He digs from dawn to dusk
One foot and then the other
Hips with Swiss movement
And a twenty year guarantee
Swing to the beat of his bluesy
Tune that swirls around his head
As he digs, lifts and hauls
His blade of steel nailed to
A shaft of wood.
His ragged overalls faded
From the overhead sun, hang loose
Spattered here and there with dry
Clay. His rough cotton shirt open
At the neck, is drenched in sweat.
A few dollars a day man working for
A black-eyed beauty with kisses
Sweeter than honey.
©
17/5/2016
Brilliant descriptive work in this poem and a fine image. Tom Billsborough
Thanks Tom. All responses seem to go missing, this site badly needs upgrading
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks Tom. It seems the other comment written by a young lady has disappeared. What on earth is wrong with this sight?