Terry Ireland Poet Rhyme

Daily Bread

Is this the land fit for heroes
Promised by the Great War,
Or, just one where those with
Take ever more and more.
I’m  just a working man
Brought up to accept 
My lowly role in life
To treat with respect
The privileged and wealthy
That so elevated band
Who, by whatever means,
Own and control this land.

I accept with gratitude 
The remains from their table
Knowing I’ll be tolerated
Just so long as I am able
To labour for my living,
To earn my daily breads
And then, when unable,
Very decently be dead.

I have learned to accept,
Even accept with gratitude,
The behaviour of my betters
And their superior attitude.
I rear my children in humility,
Train then to take my place
To attend to and serve thoose
Masters of the Human Race.
I’ve got my beer and my footie
On the pub large plasma screen,
Tolpuddle, Peterloo, Orgreave 
Might just as well not have been

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