As the early morning hours of
Mist their way across my lawn,
My thoughts go to you my love,
While I whisper a quiet petition to above.
All is still and quiet this way with coffee's sip,
Except occasional worker's morning trip.
The list has grown so long not by plan.
There is Mary, Edith, Melisa, Alison, and Dan.
So many more, too many to mention,
Have their trials dealt out like pension.
One teaches her children by day,
Works nights, only has a little time to play.
There are the poets so far away,
Working to live just trying to stay.
Pat with her family strong,
Works through society's right and wrong
Some have jobs so heavy with little glory,
Other's strive to learn and share that story,
Whether from race 'Lil or no complaint,
Coast to coast through Kentucky saint.
Carols through not with words, but a thought
Pierces true better than if bought.
The city tears through one, I see the pain,
But not from her worded refrain.
These are those who take a daily stand,
Not by any ordered plan.
They simply are and what they be,
Warriors working, a sturdy tree.