The paupers friend
Now thou hast mingled with the noble class
but they’d not see in life that which I do see,
they hold their feasts', drink from their purest glass,
in finest mansions built beside the sea.
See not the homeless begging on the street,
nor in dark laneways, wet with cold they die.
See not the children sick or with bare feet,
nor for the measly scraps thrown out they vie.
If I could forward through the frames of time
to lands afar unheard of now by thee,
would not thine eyes view pestilence and crime,
would still there be fine mansions by the sea.
Where still are those who sleep in laneways cold,
where nobles, whom for wealth their souls they’ve sold.
David J Delaney.