SAVE THE POOR LOT

A scene
Was written, beneath
The toil of
Every common man
With plough and field
To shoulder
An acre of farm
And the morning Sun

The creation
Got destroyed
In richness of harvest
The poor man died
Of slavery and
And lesser bit
Of an air!

The benefited lot
Took a pun
At the sweat
Littered along
The torn cloths
The cracked feet
And the pain
Behind the eyes

They now rule
From the top
Of the chair
The rich and
The silky man
Holding a cane
To baton the cake
Ready-made.
Alas!
Lord! SAVE THE POOR LOT!!