Something about sitting under a springtime sun
Staring into the open blue sky
In advance of the evening’s enjoyment
Prompts pondering on what has passed to this point
How many such days
Or sultry summer afternoons and their languid evenings
Or autumn nights warmed by flickering flames and fragrant smoke
Or winter mornings spent snuggled beneath blankets
Have been lost to labor for others’ gain
For no better reasons than another’s profit,
And the scraps from their table
Copper crumbs falling from crackling lips
That grimace as any other’s gain

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