On her work of laborer
I asked her generally
If she disliked school
Or like to go to school
She looked at my face
Through questioning eyes
With a very feeble smile
On her glowing face were
Patches of mud and dust
Her untold question evoked
I would never understand
The plight in the lives
Of people of likes of hers
And their compelling reasons
Of making an honorable living
With all odds one and sundry
Way beyond my imagination
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