CRY OF THE POOR


Growling stomach

and aching back,

sores from the cold

facing the storm bold.

I may be from the hood

but my soul is good.

I just need some food;

Give me if you could.

On the go but at a loss-

This is not a cause

but my cross;

Spare me some clothes.

It’s getting hotter-

skin burnt, sorer.

At night, it’s colder;

I truly need shelter.

Yes, this is poverty.

No food yet still lucky

to be alive, hopefully

some day I will cope.

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