One poem, a national poetry day does not make. So let's all drown in poetry, at least for the day.
THE MURMUR OF THE POOR.
Brokers, bankers, Earls and Dukes,
callous, mercenary, pirate crew
gasconading through the land
bloated, pampered, privileged few.
Striding with selfish arrogance
plundering as you go
grasping at the fruits
the common people sow.
Take heed, you swaggering fat-cats,
in our world you don't belong,
that murmur you hear is the poor
rehearsing an angry song.
The day is fast approaching
when our chorus loud you'll hear,
then all your greed and treachery
will surely cost you dear.
A price you'll pay for being blind
to the hungry at your door,
Oh, hasty the day our angry chorus
becomes a mighty roar.
Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk