We Pleaded

Before the Sun, we woke,

Ate not-enough breakfast of warm oats,

And laced on cracked blister-shoes.

The right shoe had a hole, broken lace.

Dawn-drowned gaslights on the dusty way

Through the tenements and poverty.

We yawned against yesterday’s pain

And smeared yesterday’s dirt on our faces.

You wanted to play, but the whistle called

Everyday, you stooped like grandmother

Mary, to her we pleaded for some relief

We pleaded to God, but got no Graces.


© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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