Dressed in rags,
protruding bones,
living in a ramshackle dwelling,
arms and legs like walking sticks.
A pathetic rat,
the rich called him.
A boy of fifteen he was,
wandering the streets like a vagabond,
begging for food from the ravenous wolves;
the so-called clergymen, the well-off.
They took away his only home,
demolished many more homes
and destroyed families like mere fleas.
The remains of what they owned
were snatched away without no mercy.
Yet the sinners' greed wasn't assuaged.
The poor were left hopeless,
their voice suppressed.
Deprived of their right to live,
they toiled in the palms of the rich.
How would those born with golden spoons
ever feel the agony of the poor?
Pic courtesy: Pinterest
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