Child's Deja Vu

You showed the sun
In the pupils of those
sunburnt eyes. The
disheveled grin that
held only grief.

The long hours in that
hovel I spent were
nothing compared with
the decades of toil on
that same assembly line.

Forty-years young,
and still, you were
treated like a child.
Those young as I roared
curses in your ears.

You fought for the
future you'd once
dreamed of. Quick were
stars struck down by
callings of motherhood.

And my dreams, as now
I carry the child with
her deadbeat father,
will perhaps also
disappear in time.

When I wrote this my first line stanza started "in the palms of those sunburst eyes"... however upon actually thinking about the wording, I realized there really was no sense in using a hand metaphor for the eyes. Though I think it does lose something in how it sounds.