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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Down the street After passing three dogs and a gunman A few meters beyond the electric fence If the spy cam is clear But there is a council of desperate urchins A special crusade, they have, these beggars They have looked up to Nyasaye Higher than pious men can see Their eyes have gone up To the gates of heaven The rich man who dumps his waste this way Is wasting away The siren is singing the goodnight bid They too are offering a sacrifice Of the last bread he left behind Oh yes, Down at the damp site, on the sunset side. There is a crusade of commons The orphaned paupers and Hapless brothers The members only, who eat if you eat And they are many today. They have heard the news, and they are praying to God. Save his life, Dear Lord, let him not go. The rich man down with flu. This man of means was rich, my friend He always left the food stores empty. Never drove in the same car with food. He led in a big black car. And the other car with a bigger belly followed, farting with food. It carried food, a lot of it. Anything he throws away, is stinking rich. The fruits, the veggies, the corn, the salted popcorn and curry. Any time he throws away the remains at the dampsite There is enough for us. Sometimes the potatoes were fried till they lied. Away, he even threw a crate or two or more of bread, whenever they expired. His waste per day, our stock for days. God save him. If he died, dear Lord, this great man of means. With all his lot and rots of food, where shall we turn? God, the Giver of excess, please save him.
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