Fourth world.
Ripples a time of endless needs,
Buried beneath the watchful eye,
Hurt a burn of hateful deeds,
Sink to see your female fly.
Grading those who have no choice,
Tied for a seed now dispersed,
Listen to hear that lonely voice,
A pain that you and I rehearsed.
A drop of oil that rainbow shed,
Turned a sense of current use,
Think lucky to those who are not fed,
And to those taught of child abuse.
How graceful we’re to be alive,
Numbered and marked and told to pray,
Huddle to see your female strive,
Thank whom for all these coloured days.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
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Written on 2006-10-31 at 14:03
Tags Poverty 
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