I need to sort my Life out,
Get rid of cobwebs new,
Find more work to earn more,
And less hours to think and stew.
I’m cast upon the Scrap Heap,
The Scrap Heap of my working life,
When there’s no work on the horizon,
And its lack does bring me strife.
Mailshots are getting me nowhere,
Recipients think they’re Spam,
There must be more work somewhere,
I search as best I can.
At Sixty-Two and able,
But disabled by my Muscle Disease,
Trying to put food on my table,
And to pay my bills with ease.
Miracles do sometimes happen,
My Faith does tell me so,
Hopefully in the near future,
Results’ll be fast ~ not slow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem