Mark Heathcote Poems
Poverty Is A Gift
Father, poverty is a gift
Ask any bird taking a rain bath.
Son, don't make's me laugh
There's nothing but rain
Poverty isn't a gift
There's nothing but pain.
So son fastens your reigns
Ride for them riches today
Don't live by wage's daily
Paid only once monthly
Father poverty is a gift.
Son nothing is ever enough,
Just ask your mum.
Pellucid blue-eyes, whoever told you to-be-wise?
Whoever said you could dream beyond the
Moon, lit, monolithic, midnight-skies
Drink-the-midnight-curtain of sleep
Into these waking hours
Where dreams can sublimely, creep
Around like a carnivorous green-flower
Like a sun spider sunning on a rock
Like a worm in the pippin of an eye