Oh, how they toil in sun and windy rain!
They're migrant workers from the near-by states;
They stand on risky poles and build sans pain;
They slog for hours on end for paltry rates.
They speak a dialect unknown to you;
They are a clan that goes from site to site;
All strenuous, dangerous jobs, they can do;
They rarely smile but verbally do fight.
They cook their tasty food and make their tea;
Almighty God protects them from all harm;
They take some rest but labor like a bee;
They walk their way and move akin a swarm.
A wonder how God cares for them in life;
To them it makes no difference, joy or strife!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 8-01-2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like it so much. Nice job.