The Workingman

A Poem that I made. In a collection of poems.
Somewhere in the meadow
After the sunny trees
A man works fast and hardy
And doesn't care about fleas
The man works swiftly
Does every knowing job
He is prominently honest
And if he were to lose his money
He wouldn't even rob
Late night in the highway
Where the drunkards flock
He puts down the oil
And lays down the rocks
If you ever wanted
To ask him for a deed
He wouldn't request money
And he'd work till his fingers bleed.