Eight Poem by Mary Champion

Eight of us lived here,
in this tumbledown wreck
we called our home.
Eight, living in fear,
that the next pay cheque
would never come.

Eight of us slept here,
dreaming of better days
we never saw.
Debts, we could not clear,
work never seemed to pay.
We, all stayed poor.

Eight of us cried here
tears we could not contain,
we let them fall.
Eight of us died here;
died when the sickness came
and took us all.