From fields of gold to the city's cold embrace,
He came a farmer, with a weathered face.
Dusty clothes, hands calloused and worn,
Carrying the burden of harvest born.
But steel and glass denied his rightful claim,
A public servant, fuelled by disdain.
"Unfit," they scoffed, for comfort and ride,
Ignoring sweat beneath the sun's harsh tide.
A captured scene, a viral shame,
Sparked...
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