Skinflint
In wild vanity your curiosity hunts
What no greedy archer ever shot;
And pining under unrequited labor,
You’ll condemn your inclement lot.
In ceaseless tilling your brow
Shall toil endlessly under sun,
Till no sweat sits on your skin;
And return with no medal won.
For your parsimonious hand
Withholds the destitute's alms;
Making poor riffraff folks curse
The sting of your stingy palms.
Kindest Heaven's warning counsel
Patient gracious amnesty supplies;
Now open those hoarding stores,
And heed the unfortunate's cries.
Copyright © Hannington Mumo | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment