At the day's end, like The Angelus *

At the day's end, with the dusk
Settling in , upon the land,
Hearing the gongs of bells
Perhaps coming to them
From the faraway town,
How they stood still
with clasped hands,
In the midst of the vast
field kissing the horizon,
How they stood there
The Angelus, as the day
Came to bid adieu to
Their toils and sweat
At least for a night
To brace with rest,
How they stood like
Statues against the perspective
Of a dusk , descending quiet,

The wheelbarrow near
Had the fruit of their hardships
That they had borne
For days many, yet
Every day when came to pass
Like that, they would perhaps
Stop their works, and say
Words few, softly , muttering
Their little hope, love and wishes,

How with the passage of the day
They came to stand there
And to say their own words
To the world.

(*Note : loosely based on a painting as attached, done by Jean-Francois Millet, titled 'The Angelus'.)

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