They are rabid
To cut benefits
To make up
Their own shortfall
Yet the biggest claimants
The royal family
See a rise
Not a fall.
They pay no bedroom tax
Spare rooms too many to count
Allowed to be ill
While poverty it shouts
Everyones a shirker
No illness allowed
Unless your rich or royal
Compassion it clouds.
Prime minister
And all mps
Yearly rise
Expense account
No fall in income
No worries
Or food banks
The down trodden shout.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: November 23rd, 2025 04:21
- Comment from author about the poem: Hello austerity Our old friend More graves to dig As benefits end.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Online)
Comments1
A poetic complaint made in this poem of injustice. But then this type of injustice goes way back before any can remember reinforcing that old cliche Might makes right. The rich will always be rich and the poor poor. As another man once said "For the poor always ye have with you"
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