The Fair Bread
The sky is clear and scorching the sun,
Hot wind blows fast along with dust,
None seen outside but children run,
Who are beyond the evil of rust.
A man appears having staff on his head,
Who is a perspiring poor hawker,
Shouting loudly, he's moving ahead,
Who is weak but strong as a walker.
Some children buy and pay for it,
And he moves with his earlier pace,
The gust of wind and the sun him hit,
The sweat with dust lies on his face.
Coming home, he takes rest on his bed,
And thanks God truely for His grace,
Cause he's earned the fair bread,
And, so satisfaction sits on his face.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.