A stolen morsel more precious than gold,
A stolen shirt to keep out the cold,
There is no price to hunger,
There is no price to shelter,
There is no price to kindness
and life with its filthiness
abounds in the heart of cold men...
This morsel is their reminant,
the crumbs that fell from their carcass,
and when next the sun shine
let it be known why we died.

© penwizardpoetics