In The Balance Poem by Paul Brookes

Sweat on his brow was not returned monetarily,
if it was he'd be a wealthy man.

hands hardened, tough as his spirit,
dirt under his nails proclaimed him.
blue overalls pale from the many washings his badge of honour,
patches his medals.

striding, long legged across the fields to pick all day long,
sweet potatoes or beats, whatever was to harvest.

hard were the days but more the alone nights
itinerant and peripatetic he missed his kids
his sweet wife who made him the king of her heart

what is the worth of this man you ask
more than rubies or the riches of the earth.

for if a man is judged by his merit,
this humble man is rich indeed.