In the fields, under the sun's warm gaze,
Sweat beads form, marking the toil-filled days.
With calloused hands and steadfast will,
We toil on, our dreams to fulfill.


Through the night, the writer's pen does dance,
Crafting worlds with each poetic glance.
Words birthed from labor, line by line,
Hard work's essence in each verse divine.


Beneath the city's towering skyline,
Workers hustle, their efforts intertwined.
From dawn till dusk, they build and strive,
Their...