They Dug the Well So I Can Drink
The sun- a burden on their backs.
Beads of sweat wetting the dry earth,
Dirt lining the whites of fingernails,
Shovels hitting rocks and roots.
Frustration arising when another day without success
Would pass.
Tears wiped with sodden sleeves
Invoking the question:
“Will anyone even remember me?”
Fair to wrinkled skin,
Hair from brown to white.
The water emerges from the ground.
The sweet relief finally found
And the dream that children could
Run to and drink of the refreshment
Allows their hearts to rest.
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