Fruits of Labour

If a labourer crushed a stone one day
Looking for instant gratification
The buildings that stand tall will laugh aloud
They weren’t built in a jiffy by his kin

The moor that bears the green gold’s glow was tilled
Over seasons of toil, turmoil endless
Sweat and warm blood ran through its cold bowels
The sun never asked for a credit note

When the horizon is not visible
Some return, some sail with far more vigour
Patience, the silent keeper of action,
Driving small steps towards a distant dream

Fruits of labour shall fall from far heavens
Angels and demons alike shall collect

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