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.