940

Workhouse

We had a home but then I lost my job

And nowhere hereabouts to find more work.

With nothing saved and no desire to rob

I tried to make ends meet, and did not shirk

The meanest task or lowliest of toil;

But nothing came, and so we had to go

Into the Workhouse.  Who but would recoil

At all the human misery on show?

Debased, reviled, no sense of concern,

Compassion, warmth; for though we are poor

We have feelings, when separated, yearn

For love that is denied us by the law.

          Why does the church teach that all are one

          Then separate me from my wife and son?

Brian Hick May 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 22.5.23