Hope

we toil and labour for days on end but when we ask for our labour's due our leaders tell us to work some more and trust them to keep our wealth we till the earth in the scorching sun our muscles ache, our stomachs bite but our calloused hands refuse to rest for ourwages are safely kept i hear grandad is on his dying bed and i walk many miles to pay respect my tearducts open like heaven's rain when i see grandad all bones and hair with his last effort before the end he says,'cry not for me, i choose death cry for wages that will never come i am still told to wait for mine'