The Laborer
By reneeJ
A laborer stood at my door one day eager to sell the wood he'd cut and chopped himself. I had answered the door unwillingly, not feeling well. He'd been here three weeks ago and I'd turned him away, explaining that I had two ricks stacked in my shed. What was he doing here again? I said no I thought I had enough, all the while watching despair fall upon him. His face was creased with cares, as if he'd weathered many trials. He hung on the door limp, listless, like a child who'd asked for candy and been turned down. So I asked how much, and got a bargain when he smiled. Written September 28th, 2001 © on Sep 28 2001 10:44 AM PST 0 • 10
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"A laborer stood at my door one day eager to sell..."