Poverty

The child looked up through candlelight.
“Mah, is there meat tonight?”
From Mama, no word was said;
Hiding a tear, she turned her head.

She melted fat in boiling grain.
“Mah, will Dah be paid again?”
She ladled out his bowl of gruel,
And thought how poverty could be so cruel.

Papa that night would not come home.
He tramped the roads for work, to roam
From farm to farm, from town to town,
But honest work could not be found.

And so the two sat down to eat,
Said grace and prayed for, one night, meat.


Also, remembered (and corrected by a friend, Jim…

“It’s the rich wot gets the pleasure;
 It’s the poor wot gets the blame.
 It’s the same the whole world over –
 Ain’t it all a ruddy shame!”
Writer and original title unknown

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