The Man With The Shovel

At five o'clock in the morning,

On a bright Saturday,

When everyone else is still at rest,

The Man With The Shovel is long gone,

Working to provide for his family in anyway he can.


His hands are callused,

His skin an bronzed by the sun,

And he weighs no more than a stone,

But his masssive heart, 

And his love for his friends and the community,

Weighs all the more.





And Laughs for all.


This is only a portion,

Of The Man With The Shovel,

For he is more,

So much more.


If I could be, 

Half the person he is,

I would be proud.


For I learned from the best,

About life, 

And about working hard,

And about love.


I will always respect,

The Man With The Shovel,

For he is more than a man,

He is my dad.





This poem is about: 
My family


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