Workshop

Here it is again the sun begins to soar 
Fill your coffee cup sweetened by the dawn
Black as hands that contain the yawns
Hearty as steel used for the workshop walls.
A man does not rise to the status he’s born 
But falls to the sweat on his overalls
Ain’t measured by the volume of his roar
But by the silence that he’s reserved it for, 
Blistered by the hammer and the maul, 
Christened by the waters of rainfall,
Standing for all, short or tall
Kneeling for none unwilling to crawl.