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shakespear wrote:You’re poor

As you’re a poor man, you can’t like or hate
A human third rank, you’re less than a dog
She ignores you, insults you, it’s you’re fate….
To be poor and your ways are full of fog
She cares for her dog, who cares if you’re late?
Who cares if you’re alive or died in a bog?
Sleep or not; well or ill… it’s same in rate
She won’t come although you will , long time, wait
* * *
Day after day, their money will increase
And your troubles with poverty increase too
You want peace and love, you often whisper please
They don’t care for peace, they always yell boo
You like to see her? You may her dog tease
Don’t you see your sky cloudy? But theirs blue
In winter you suffer from cold and freeze
But warmed, she grumbles from honey of bees
* * *
If you sicken, you won’t find helping hand
None holds you, in your chest all will stab sword
And if you die, they’ll insert you in sand
None puts rose on your grave, by all you’re gored
You’d lived alone without beloved or band
It’s your sad fate, it’s the will of your lord
Now you’re without grave stone, you’re lost in land
Like all beings you died, but you’ll still be grand
* * *