I love the humble gardener,
His hair unkempt,
Holes in his shirt,
So down to earth.
[I say, “How have you been?”
He answers, “Just trying to survive.”]
I had an uncle,
His teeth stained, some missing,
From smoking too much.
At least he was real —
Are we real?
The little people,
Struggling to survive,
Just to keep alive.
Do we know them?
clarakatalin 
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