Dear World,
Today, the fruit of my labor
is bitter, is sweet.
The hours spent gritting my teeth while the sun's nails dug into my stiff, strained back as I dug to plant, fetched a pail to water, and sat and watched carefully,
The workers who've rawed their backs spending their hours with mine as they sung of better tomorrows, joked of stories old, and grinned for grinning's sake
Fertilized this moment
To be bitter, to be sweet.
And world,
Satisfaction is found once I taste the fruit.
Sincerely,
Laborer