The photograph was confronting
It was a sad depiction to
say the least
A thirsty little boy
taking a drink
At a dirty, muddy
waterhole...
What choice does this poor
boy have?
There is no other water:
no clean source
Probably only some dry
watercourse
We who live here in the
lucky country
We who bitch and moan
about stupid things
Have no idea about poverty
as such
We live here like bloody
wealthy kings...
The food we throw away
each and every day
Would feed his family over
there: so far away
Yet he goes hungry;
thirsty; filthy and dirty
Do we feel no shame that
life is so...
Unfair, so appalling just
across the way
So many: struggle: to get
enough to eat
While we complain about
the trivial things
That: grate upon our
nerves each day
Oh Lord: forgive us...
For we know not what we
say
Forgive us...
For we know not what we do
When we cannot see these
problems
Though they are right
before our eyes
No comments:
Post a Comment