How low?
How low?
Would you steal the food from children, would you rob the aged man,
For your own gain, would you spread pain and hunger where you can,
Could you fatten your own wallet, and then close your sturdy door,
To the people, who are begging, at the ‘food banks’, of the poor?
And would you take a great delight, in seeing people in the night, ‘rough – sleeping’,
And while you have a ‘feathered bed’, and them nowhere to rest their head, for keeping,
And in this unkind and cruel day, are you content to have your way observing,
And looking on at all of this, as proud men take the serpent’s kiss undeserving?
Is this all Britain now can give, a cruel despotic way to live, most grieving,
Is poverty our lowest point, is dignity and charity now leaving,
Does politics so rule the stage, that in this ‘God forsaken age’ we’re sighing,
Where old and poor, can do no more, are dying?
Mick
(Copyright Michael Westwood 2015)
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