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Just another
immigrant The immigrant man keeps working
the field Plowing and planting long hours
of the day ‘Til all the hours of it have
passed away None mind him working or ask him
to yield Keeping the status of his life
concealed Working silently, he labors away To him labors of such meager
earnings Seem ample compared to events
before What he could, should, or would
have to endure Where his heart retains so many
yearnings To come from a life so
undiscerning Working still, even as he
becomes sore “Come on…work the field” he says
to himself Just keep on working as hard as
you can Keep pushing the dirt and
tilling the land Keep doing your job and keep to
your self Do what is required, and sit on
the shelf Time can account for the shakes
in your hands No one will ask of him, and none
will suspect The thoughts that he has. His
face starts to frown Thoughts of the woman with child
he had drowned Thoughts of the people whose
lives he had wrecked Thoughts for a life of despair
and neglect He keeps on working not making a
sound The anger inside was cowed by
his fears He left his home to start over
anew To try to escape the life that
he knew So he works in hiding all of his
years Amongst the others he just
disappears Keep working away, your job is
not through. Working so hard to account for
his deeds Sleeping at night, and then
working the day As long as he works so cheap he
will stay Working off the land and
planting the seeds Living a life that none want to
appease Living his life the American way |