The Widow's Mite
Let us now name what we pursue, if not in person
In the whole… by our consent
We declare that our economy shall not trample on the rights of citizens
Yet we separate by color and by creed… according to our greed
Refusing thus to freely share the bounty bought by providence
Lest our future suffer some imagined slight… that we cannot imagine suffering
The widow's mite, quite rightly, is treasure to the poor
And that, which now imagined, must surely be in store
For those who have the least in outlook to protect
Will feed and house the largest dogs that guard this intellect
The widow could not possibly forsee what lay ahead
While the miser holds on tightly to what might lead to more
Considering the value lost in the dissolution of that bed
Which becomes now weighed upon the scale of circumspect
Should we perchance regain the value of this purse
We might, somehow also regain remorse in course of time
Before we are awakened and all balance is restored
By the inescapability of the rolling of the hearse
Considering what's lost in cost of that once well made bed
The value of companionship weighs heavy on the scale of our neglect
Of those who have the least in thought they thought best to protect
Left still to own the biggest dogs… asleep and still well fed
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
