Fragrances of being poor
IP: 120.62.37.95
Posted on February 2, 2012 at 05:51:46 AM by danielmdavid
Sweat, mud and black tea.
Floor sparkled with dung,
A roof of dead, dry hay,
Fighting the rain and sun.
Stale food of two days ago,
Freshened by hunger and fire.
Sweat, it smells so sweet with
Little money in every drop.
The heady breath of cough,
Blowing whistles in the lungs
Will soon cease, will be no more.
Who, then will breathe in these
Fragrances of being poor?
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