The Poor Poem by Randy McClave

I believe blessed is the poor
Because they can't give any more,
When to them someone tries to complain
They cannot, as they have the same pain.
From a turnip you cannot get blood
From tears you cannot cause a flood,
To get truthful and down to the gritty
You cannot gain the poor's pity.
In their wallet nothing is there
Except for the moths flying in the air,
They don't have a single cent to give
But, the poor do without, and live.

Randy L. McClave