Perceiving the passing parade of people
walking by outside my window
a never-ending stream an endless tide
they come and go on a never-ending ride
nine-to-fivers barely alivers
running round and round on a wheel
lost in a maze can they really be real
the passing parade will always be there
while the world spins and goes its own way
the passing parade has nothing to say
while the world turns another day
perusing the passing parade of people
wandering by outside my front door
a never-ending crowd an endless horde
they're still keeping a never-ending score
weekend warriors none more sorrier
racing round and around in a wheel
lost in a daze do they ever even feel
there are those with noses high in the air
who can't smell the roses totally unaware
and others with eyes held down on the ground
never taking the time to look around
When comments are in
Such short supply
You can not even buy one
Even if you we're not strapped
for cash and had a pocket full of
fivers
And plenty room left to spare
on your paid up credit card
And then totally out of the blue
4 green comment bubble's appear
out of nowhere
Better than anything in your
wildest dreams you could imagine
That light up and you take to heart
Like you have just won the lottery
And make you feel like they are
as close to 1 or know you as well
as a member of your own family
Leaving behind what can only be
described as the smell of
Sweet success joy eternal
happiness
Gratitude blessings and wishing
nothing more
Than to let them know
And pay the comment or massive
compliment back in spades
So my kind sincere regards
To you David Goliath Sir
For making not my day , week ,
month or year
But all of the above and so
much more
Word's alone fail me to do
justice to explain
On Radio 4 this morning, plastic fivers...
So, money doesn’t grow on trees no more
For some of us it never really did
The rich grow ever richer, and the poor
Still grovel for a poxy flippin’ quid
The launderers shall rub their hands with glee
‘Tis easy now to wipe clean, and to wash
The dirty money in the treasury
The grime of crime from shiny plastic dosh
Old money will still glint of ancient gold
New money will still boast itself and flash
And diamonds shine, and lead be dark and cold
As ever was, the alchemy of cash
The chemistry of lucre is not strange
The rich stay rich, and for the poor, no change
© Gail Foster 13th September 2016
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