A long way down the crust of the animal’s hole
In the ground lies a secret
It remains unsung for centuries
Woe unto those who put on their foreheads
The graffiti of being poor
They are marooned in a dungeon for rising early in the morning to run after drinks
Stay up late at night till they are inflamed with wine
Hypocrisy becomes the poor man’s virtue
Dictating to him to do what conflicts with the truth
Poverty expands its jaw, opening wide its mouth
Into it will descend a plural of persons who are hesitant to realize and admit
What it takes to get a fair share of the cake
Bestowed by the even-handed hand
Of nature