Though his fissured hands ached,
the agony wasn't shown when he held.
For our gaiety was he ever cared,
There was diligence in every sweat he bled.
None were the excuses heard,
Nor a time he couldn't work and not be there,
The concedes for the exertions were never said,
All he got was the ravenous glare.
He heard us before we could ask,
Saw right through us before we even felt,
Yet he scraped a pavement for us to walk,
For the brood the big man knelt.
----Sharath
