The Widow Poem by John Fenton Mcleish

The ladies husband dies
Now she is a widow
Still she must feed her child
In mourning and sorrow
She begs for alms and cries
God knows how she'll survive

The state will give nothing
For charity she begs
Fat politicians
Do laugh at her instead
While they sip on champagne
Bairn freezes in the rain

She's thrown out on the street
A baby in her arms
The rent she cannot meet
Nay money in her palms
Lords preach humanity
Practice hypocrisy

She sell's herself for food
Her body is defiled
Becomes a prostitute
Profession o' so vile
The ruling class elite
Make her crawl at their feet

Banking families rule
Our government today
Their hearts black and cruel
It's always been this way
In gold palaces bide
While peasants starve outside

They are not animals
For they're lower than that
Organised criminals
And born from the rat
Like pigs they do wallow
Send them to the gallows