No More Friends-No More Money. Poem by Michael Gale

For after the war is a plenty...
No more friends, no more money.
Friends are enemies disguised...
Coughed to life's besmudged, rightly by God-be judged.
For after the war is a plenty...
No more friends, no more money.
Life is emptied when friends do leave...
We bring to us, our very own distaste of that, we've weaved.
Friends leave us for friends thus rich...
We trade to others for friends we switch or ditch.
For after the war is a plenty...
No more friends, no more money.
Like bees to honey we do attract...
No more friends-just ones that attack.
Friends depart with such sweetened, soured sorrow...
They do so desert-when needing real much needed moral.
After departured friendships, remains a contempted heart...
They descend away until tomorrow, they continue an unfinished
comtempted start.
They acknowledged friendship's shortness in stature...
T'is better they bid farewell-of man's good nature.
For if be needed for my sorrow'd well...
All others can go to a damned evil'ed stinking hell.
After all the war is a plenty...
They can be sent to hell, so bestly they shall.