Workers Of Our Land
A
Anil Kumar Panda
0
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At a distance sky the cloud cracked
To seep rain and wash the pointed hills
The thin wind came to stay over the fields
And the workers gathered at the gate of the mills
Chatting, smoking, drinking tea they
Waited for their shifts to start and call
With boots, coats, scarves and mufflers
They enjoyed their works not at all feeling dull
They are the native men of the soil
Hard work and honesty are their traits
They live in huts scattered across the valley
With simplicity and love they write their fates
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