Poems ✍️

I was over come with inspiration from a poet on line.
All at once the years that I lived started to decline.
I was placed in a world of poverty and sorrow.
Could this be the past, or was it tomorrow.
As I walked the streets of this old Town.
Every face I saw had a beguiling frown.
Then a man approached me
with a strange look on his face
and he asked me if my name was Grace.
Then out from his coat he pulled a knife
all I could do was to run for my life.
I ran to a building and banged on the door.
I never knew it was a workhouse for the poor.
Through want and hunger they all looked so slim,
and life there, looked so awfully grim.
Cleanliness was far, from what I call clean.
That's why they were there, they never had a bean.
Screaming babies lots of mouths to feed,
the fat and obese were surrounded by greed.
These were the rich they don't care for the poor.
That's what I saw through that workhouse door.
I had no money where was I to go,
in this great town full of poverty and woe.
Where everyone was struggling, from all walks of life
Is this what they call want and strife.
The streets were full of tenement buildings,
with crowded rooms and decaying ceilings.
No room for privacy and nowhere to hide,
No time for sentiment and along way from pride.
Could this be the year of our Lord, eighteen fifty,
It feels like Oliver with character's so shifty.
I have read it in books, poverty has no fears.
It breeds like a disease and gets worse over the years.
The ultimate claim is to beg steal or borrow,
but that could lead to ultimate sorrow.
We are far away from eighteen fifty,
but the world has places, that are still as shifty.
Where poverty is stricken both day and night.
Where there are no roses and the future's never bright.
People now suffering, in the land of their birth,
Left to the destiny of God's great Earth.

Thankyou Duncan for writing 'Angel Whispers'
this is where I was at when I read that short but beautiful poem