HOMAGE TO THE WORKING MAN AND WOMAN


Saturday has arrived, and it is the Labor day weekend. I have the whole weekend off not including Monday to do as I please. I love having weekends off and working the same hours Monday through Friday, it is this routine that makes it possible for me to continue on and be successful in my My Change For A Ten Quest, and I am very grateful for that and to the managers where I work that are kind enough to give me the schedule that works for my new fit lifestyle.

I am taking a rest day so it seems. I decide to take my rest days by judging how my body feels, if I feel like I have pushed it and I am overly tired that is when I take my rest day. Hard work does need a rest, after all it is Labor Day this weekend and since I work Monday I will rest today. I wish everyone a beautiful Labor Day weekend, and I hope you take sometime to relax and revel in the intoxication of  just being alive. 


I wrote this poem a few years ago and I do not remember who or what I was musing off. It is about the working man/woman, an homage so you will to all those who toil to make a better life for themselves and their loved ones, sometimes sacrificing their own freedom. This is a poem I once almost scrapped when I lived in NYC but after my close friend read it and cried because it reminded her of her father I decided to keep it. Happy Labor Day Weekend to all. Get some rest and relaxation and get out there and bask in the sweet summer sun as a reward to all of the hard hours you put in for a better life. Autumn is sneaking up on us, so make these last summer moments count. Love and light to all.
Namaste’
Rose

BREADWINNER

Lament of a man of labor,

Pride in his starched blue collar;

Valor in the stains of sweat,

From toiling in the sweltering heat.

Sacrificing time for his devotion,

To family, keeping poverty at bay;

At the price of exhaustion of self.

Fatigue plagues him day after day,

No escape is in sight, no freedom;

Enslaved, trapped within his quagmire.

Nothing ever changes, even with time,

There is no relief in sight.

It seems he sold his soul,

Owned by a pea colored key.

Still he endeavors on

With his daily drudgery,

Realizing with great esteem;

Truest nobility

To raising a family,

And profound dignity

In any honest occupation.

(c) Rose Bruno Bailey




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