Shortage Poem by Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Lawrie Stuart Ronton

An Industrial City in a shoddily assembled one-floored house.

Shortage



No food, water or food,
This is a Shortage.
Most dead from starvation,
Some from disorganised pyjamas.

Not folded, creased or pizza.
No house to cook the air.
Right about now some food would be nice,
'I can't' He said, i ate all the rice.

Saturday, October 27, 2007
Topic(s) of this poem: food,house
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Lawrie Stuart Ronton

Lawrie Stuart Ronton

An Industrial City in a shoddily assembled one-floored house.
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