The Beating of the Mill

The beating of the Mill, we hear it down the hill. It is the town's heartbeat. No children on the street already in the shop to labor till they drop. Sold to the upper class; the mother needs the brass. The father on the beer; not working since last year. The bosses own their soul, their houses, so they toll; boy, sister, young as four stay bailiff from the door. They; hardly off the teat, meet quotas, or get beat. Most dying all too young from ailment of the lung or bodies ripped apart. No healthcare; caring heart so poorer lose their health while richer gain more wealth on broken bodies, pain. The workers take the strain. Not distant, in the past but present, and to last. You think that things have changed, you all must be deranged; The Beating of the Mill is calling us all still! The Sweat Shop Poetry Contest placed 5th Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann Date wrote: 15th February 2022