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To the hero of toil

Another days labour for the man at the front
another days work of sweat and of grunt
of straining of muscle of tendon and joint
no praise for the hero of toil

Head down and end up as he reshapes the earth
for the rich and the mighty he'll give all he's worth
with the spade and the hammer he was handed at birth
no praise for the hero of toil

In the darkest of climates he'll give it his last
he wont mumble or groan, he's just one of his class
with the spit on his hands he'll get on with the task
no praise for the hero of toil

Where would we be if it weren't for him
our lives would be dull and our futures be dim
yet he still carries on while the rich sip their gin
no praise for the hero of toil.

poem by Charles M. Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
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