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Some children growing up in towns,
    Wear sallow faces, sullen frowns.
    Streetwise urchins, Jack the lads,
    Reminiscent of their dads.
    Guttersnipes roam nine to five,
    Scrounging food banks to survive.
    Toerags daily flout the rules,
    Playing truant from rundown schools.
    Destitutions plain to see,
    With children trapped in poverty.
    Urban dwellings, tumbldown,
    In the poorest parts of town.

    Suburban children lives are fine,
    Where peevish youngsters often whine.
    For pocket money, mobile phones,
    Sadly lacking strong backbones.
    Little lords and lady muck,
    Born with silver spoons to suck.
    Dolly daydreams, demand, designer dresses,
    Constantly combing cioffured tresses.
    Horrid Hooray Henries, haughty asses,
    Pretend to be from upper classes.
    Riding lessons, will, in due course,
    See little madams gain their own horse.
    Suburban life is plain to see,
    Where children live in luxury.
    Upmarket homes maintained with care,
    The sweet smell of success, everywhere.

    But the beating heart of any town,
    Are children neither up nor down.
    These children work hard to succeed,
    While helping those who are in need.
    Down to earth, no airs or graces,
    Pleasant smiles upon their faces.
    They live in solid stone abodes,
    Down narrow streets and cobbled roads.
    No leafy lanes for these progenies,
    That are the blossoms on their family trees.

    10/ 8/ 2019.
    

    

    
    
    
    
    
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