There are words in the middle of the night,
unspoken, unheard, unseen but bright.
Making it all seem worth the fight,
like magically colored light.
—
Then the daylight darkens the walls,
when a tired soul on the carpet falls.
Everyday is work – just endless halls,
but no escape it seems – duty calls.
—
Water, just a little water and bread to eat,
ice cold hearts and sunny heat,
down in the deserts – with the morning beat,
all in order, all working, for the one’s in the seat.
