Said the homeless to the housed:
We all grew up on the same block,
Some succeed and hide their plight —
In the land of plenty, home of free slaves,
A star-spangled show of might —
A place of hot air and taunts,
Where most of what’s wrong seems right.
Said the housed to the homeless:
Perhaps you didn’t wind your clock,
We bought our blocks long ago
And know what your conscience craves —
An ounce of self-worth, to go —
But the chasm between need and want
Is where the plain folks die or grow.
Inspired by comments found here.