In the dim-lit room where shadows play,
A being stands tall at the end of day.
Bearded face with eyes that gleam,
A silent figure from a dream.
Their hands are worn, their clothes are stained,
Signs of labor, hard and unfeigned.
A cap set high, a shirt of black,
A sturdy stance, they won't look back.
Dust of toil upon their pants,
A testament to their steadfast stance.
With arms akimbo, chest held high,
They greet the dusk without a sigh.
In their gaze, a quiet pride,
A strength that cannot be denied.
For in their work, they find their grace,
A hero in a humble place.
The day has passed, the night will fall,
Yet in their heart, they stand tall.
A beacon in the waning light,
A being of courage, boundless might.
