The toiling hand
Waking up early soiling his hand,
His sweats ooze as he toils hard,
By eve he returns with his bulging band,
Delighted to meet the waiting land.
Years after year, the child turns man,
Kudos for labour of years and dreams,
His work rewards with gold he earns,
Compensating the beads with bread and cream.
Coronation, the man emerges,
Down on his knees gently he goes,
Sweet tears gone, labour pain submerged,
Laces of thanks, buoyant memories.