Me and My Job

My job carried a life, its burden was strong,
As I burnt along.
My job blamed me and my tools
For being ashamed of rules.
My crying was a delight, forceful and right,
Yet brothers gave sight.
My tennis became perfect, as superb as supper,
One day I was upper.
My job means much to me, and my family,
As then I have civility.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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