Labor Day, Not Forgotten
Labor of Love
Here's to the laborers of Labor Day,
the first Monday of the month, in September,
For it is so easy to forget the workers of this land,
and why we should all remember.
The grinding jobs that many still have,
the black dirt and the grit, beneath their nails,
The sweat of the brows of the many all to mean,
gives a meaning to the liberty bells.
Born at the turn of the century,
The unions helped to mark this special time of the year,
They respected the toil of the working man,
gave him this honor, that we all hold so dear.
Some say it's the end of the Summer time,
Others, a last day in wearing clothes of white,
Filled with the fun and a grand day in the sun,
to celebrate, with fireworks, well into the night.
Parades and picnics, a day for kids and grownups,
for the family, fond memories, to keep,
The remembering of what made this country, what it is,
as in our safe beds, we all can sleep.
Labor Day, our hats, we doff to you, with all the honors,
and a respecting, in your strife,
You represent the finest people in all this land,
and are a symbol of our security, in this life.
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