A World Too Wide For His Shrunk Shank After Shakespeare Jacques Seven Ages Of Man Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Alas! What hope remains? The Welfare State,
Wrought through the years of blood, sweat, toil and tears,
Of suffering and strife, to some appears
Refuted by f[r]ee enterprise whose weight
Leaves little budget elbow room. We wait.
Death bides its time an extra span. Each nears
The century where ‘threescore' once brought fears
Of death. Yet western world's extended date,
Or lease on life means at a triple rate
We claim or pay for benefits. Few cheers
In underemployment's rise. One hears
Demands for health-care, pensions, but, too late
Empty promises most hollow find,
too few for bluff fall, most fear future blind.