Workers Day

First of May, Workers Day The wind that blew cold from the north has slowed down, First of May in the village and I hear silence speak. Workers day, the smithy’s hammer lies idle on the anvil. In the big town toilers are marching today carrying flags and banners, demands equal rights, and work for all. They will walk past banks, palaces haughty architecture, that has no problem with... rights. Ah, this austerity and now it is raining on the parade and the wind sneezes, but on the green field I see millions of watery pearls and each one reflects the overcast sky that promise nothing except more drizzle. Yet it doesn’t deter the working man, it is good to meet others drinks a glass of cheap red wine, eat meat roasted on a grill, slices of homemade bread and hope life will get better tomorrow.