By polished boots and inflated wheels
You tap and tow;
Driving your desire, screeching
On slaty grey city roads
By what scented hound
You pull and wag your distended feet
Stretching tendon muscles, down
To Achilles heel
You rove your ulterior motive
Clinking glass,
pub after pub
Dancing hand to hand
Mine are bare and cracked feet
Walking the earth's way;
Where the farmers till their lands, and
Soil, grove a blooming farm
I keep no bearance to city roads
Seeming selfish and terse as tar.
Mine are the hungry ones
That cry, when parents go toiling their fields
My sweat are salty and sticky
But detour a region, sweet;
When the world sleeps twinkling with stars
I spade one more step for a brighter tomorrow
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