The poor man is never healthy but live with sickness
When the Rich taste bowel, he eat bones
He has no fortitude to defy his status
For he’s hungry and angry, grumble for food
When he’s sick, no inn to be cure
For he has no money to pay his debts,
He lives like a lone man without any contribution
His voice is of no recognition
His haggard body is full of scar,
Like a mania man he wear rags
From dawn to dusk he sings ‘ Song of Death ‘
Wailing in anguish and sorrowful taste,
He has no torch to lit in darkness
And no jacket in Rain & Harmattan,
He has no fertilizer to make his land fertile,
He’s a man of little hope about morrow
He gave birth to children he can’t cater for
Marrying wives and believe marriage is for pleasure
He’s never tired of sexual intercourse
But fury when money is asked
The Poor salivate when he passed through a restaurant path
Gaze cutleries and mouth moving
His phylum tell him to eat
But he has no money with him.