On Working in the Family Business

The hot summer sun sends to earth its rays

To sting the young worker’s exposed fresh back; Digging down in the hole to pass his days Hoping eventually to find his track. From up on the rim, his father does gaze Once himself a boy who dug in the pit, “Do not succumb to working man’s malaise” He wishes for his son who has keen wit. “He is smart, will do well,” he thought inside, “I will give him a better chance in life than my father, rest his soul, allowed I, go rise above hereditary strife!” Yet the boy’ll spend long summers in the hole His father’s been bound since thirteen years old.