Wages
My lass, when God
to suffer sent me,
no gifts he gave,
but only lent me
for gold, my breath,
for silver, labour;
the sky as a friend,
the grass as neighbour.
The Vineyard called
for workers many;
at eve I took
God's punctual penny;
Because I bowed
content, I fancy,
He gave me you
for wages, Nancy!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
Added by Poetry Lover
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