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The Slave (Free verse) by Bhaskaryya

With a plough in his tired hand, A slave's eyes wander across the hired land And rests over the lass fair in the end, Rapt by the sight of the sun, on her golden hair descend. A soft dream overshadows that weary eye, But he looks away with a dreary sigh, For he has learned to yield to fate, Life for him is a ride from field to crate.

jroday 22-Dec-04/11:29 AM
I agree with Dovina. good poem work on it a little more




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