Hot Work
I put my hand to the sun
To block out the rays as the heat had sorely won
A slight breeze cooled my face
A drink I thought would not be out of place
As the sun beat on my shoulders and neck
This work was the hottest yet
But I stuck at it for a period had to defend
My part of the labour now at an end.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Copyright © Paul Warren | Year Posted 2020
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