The Dark Knight

The sky is still dark outside;
The sun is still sleeping inside;
The trees still drooling, with leaves folded;
Thr birds in slumber, with wings wrapped.
The breeze is, biting chill,
pricking at every pore.
The water is icy cold,
punishing at the slightest touch.
While the East is in morning dreams,
there walks a man, for his distant dreams.
The plough rests heavy on his shoulder,
though lighter than his promises to shoulder.
Awaits at dusk, his lady for the day's oil and dal,
his daughter, for the weekend fair to get her doll,
his son, for his new pants; he has grown five feet tall!
He ploughs his little square of soil,
moistening it with his sweat,
sowing his seeds of Future.
Awaits the arrival of the Master;
the one , who tanned him dark.
The day will break and end your night.
A soldier of the Daily Fight,
unsung is this Dark Knight.