Hope lingers

O’erhead lies the scorching sun,
its rays piercing like a bullet from a gun;
shunned is the fun,
there is work to be done.

All day is spent toiling,
with hope that is unspoiling;
at the end of the day,
meagre is the pay.

His home’s a tiny hut,
without a door to be shut;
the lil ‘uns loiter around,
‘cause no school can be found.

Life ain’t easy in a slum,
but the song of hope his lips hum.