Rich and Pauper
"I read the news today, dear boy,About a plucky girl from rubble found.
She’d lain for days in her cold bath
Thinking hourly she was heaven bound.
And as she sipped her small and filthy pool,
To keep the spark of life still dimly lit,
Did she consider giving up?
Did she even have a way to quit? "
"Another story said the USA , "
I tell my son, sweet child of mine,
"Could not agree a plan for nations health
Could not stop their crowds of poor from dying.
But still the troupes of paupers in the street
Carry on with daily chores of love and strife.
Without the bare essentials in the richest land
Their poorest worker still clings on to life."
But he hears nothing of this written word.
His father’s voice is met with deadened ears.
His time at war cut short by wayside bomb.
His mangled body worse than all our fears.
A life of anguish, constant pain and grief
Was not a life that anyone would choose.
And so a father killed his loving son
Then sat to read the body, headline news.
