Do our preachers in their pulpits
With expansion plans to nurse,
Strive earnestly to save our souls,
Or seek to grab our purse?
Our doctors, bound by ancient oath,
Are our choice of live or die
And they keep cutting wider slabs,
Of our dwindling money pie.
Some lawyers give but little heed,
To one's innocence, or guilt;
The monetary gain they chase,
Is how their case is built.
The merchants, lenders, landlords all
Pursue us every day;
They lure us with their falsities
And then extract their pay.
I wonder as I wander on
This capitalistic road;
Perhaps some day, perhaps some way,
We'll ease this heavy load.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem, A smiler, so well written and such fun to read, Yes, now could it just be Money that makes the world go round, not love, , shame on us all, - off out to water my Money tree.
Yes! Beautiful poem, A smiler, so well written and such fun to read, Absolutely agree with dear Heather