Sons of Eden

The call of morning roosters, Is a call of God's gardeners to duty. I see footprints cast In the breezy dew of the early morning, As they lumbar to their fields Ignoring the ache in their backs, shadows of sleep under the eyes and the hurt of their callused palms. They still hold to hoes and cutlasses Duty calls, a call they can't ignore With cracked but soothing voice, they sing to the spirits of the air whilst grabbing weeds away, from the paths of their crops. There's no sigh of relief until the sun starts to sleep. They give no ear to tiredness, even when their veins scream for help. For they were born to serve at the altar of God With bread from their fields of corn and wine from grapes in their yard of vine. They were chosen by the heavens above, to work under the sun's very radiation to feed and care for the whole nation. Their love for humanity, was incubated and hatched in lands beyond the reach of mortals. We live on their crops and feed on their livestock. Eden's sons deserve our applause For they sustain our lives. Long live Heroes... ...Stranja