They sit around a marble table
Eating their crumpets and cakes
Careful to take in the best
And point out every mistake
The fork is loaded with beefy words
And the spoon hoists up thick soup
The main course is delicate and small
While desert perfectly completes the group
But over in the corner, toward the back
Is a wooden table, splintered and broken
Only the servants sit and binge, every night
On the crumbly pieces of hope, thrown out, as a token
........to the wretches
If the roles were reversed, the poor wouldn't eat
They would fast a meal, rather than speak
.........black bean soup
The humbled sit at their table with sober minds
Knowing that circumstances blow in and out like the wind
Once they were rich and famous, and full of life
And now, they are nothing more than servants, once again
The system workers, build their castles
And love to dissect, detect under the need to protect
.......the wretches
But when the day is done, and their race is run
Empty and full are the stomachs of both servant and the elect
......no matter what feeds the appetite
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-09-2018
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