In shadows' dance where night meets dawn's shy grace,
A weary soul from slumber's toil does wake,
As dreams, though sweet, hold burdens none can trace,
And waking hours, with tasks, their toll do take.
The daylight's fire, relentless, burns so bright,
With hands and heart, the sweat and strain are borne,
Yet whispers cold and sharp cut through the light,
A yearning grows for more than thanks forlorn.
The hours crawl, a sea of trials and woe,
Where every step seems fraught with weight unseen,
Amidst the throng, demands like rivers flow,
Yet echoes of a worth, long past, careen.
As twilight cloaks the world in muted hues,
A door, once closed, reveals a different air,
And little voices, joyous, chase the blues,
Their laughter, light, dispels the shadows there.
But deep within, a silent wish does bloom,
That those around might sense the silent plea,
For every drop of strength, each ounce of room,
Is given with a hope they'll someday see.
