With hands hard and rough from working his trade;
To help meet his debts (not a one unrepaid).
He was physically ready to play life's harsh game;
This soul of a poet, in a laborer's frame.
No matte how rough the surface appears;
No matter what shapes or what shadows he fears,
If deep in his being, true poetry glows,
And if he The Writer of Creation knows;
If he can speak kindly, of each man, the same,
'tis the soul of a poet in a laborer's frame.
In living, we each need a measure of class
To lift when our hopes and our dreams cannot last;
To give us the will to continue the fight;
To turn into sunshine the gloomiest night;
To send into fleeing some unfounded fear;
To stop at its source a self-pitying tear;
To let peace and rhythm and poetry reign;
To be like the poet in a laborer's frame.
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"A poet in a laborer's frame" -- I LOVE THIS!!! It is beautifully put together and perfectly presented. I absolutely love it! I feel the passion of it and it moves through me -- I love the texture of it!! Love it! Debbie