Echoes Of The Poor Poem by ashok jadhav

Before the sun has touched the earth,
The laborer rises, worn and slow;
His hands are cracked, his back is bent,
Yet onward through the fields he goes.
The rain may fall, the wind may bite,
The sun may burn with ruthless flame;
He bears it all with quiet strength,
For life demands no wealth, no claim.
The children play with tattered clothes,
Their laughter bright against the dust;
They know not toys of shining gold,
Yet hearts beat full with hope and trust.
The mother kneads her daily bread,
Her eyes are tired, her spirit strong;
She smiles to hide the gnawing fear,
And sings her humble, weary song.
At night the village settles down,
The poor lie down with dreams of rain;
They dream of ease, of gentle hands,
Yet wake to toil, to daily pain.
But still within their simple lives
There blooms a dignity unseen;
For courage grows where hardship dwells,
And hearts endure where hope has been.