Sunday, November 13, 2022

The Middle Road

There is small comfort,
Well, maybe great relief,
That though I'm not drowning in money,
I've no dark history,

Like my family didn't own a farm,
Worked by desp'rate migrants,
Picking olives destined for haute markets.
Would my wealth be comfort for my conscience,

Or would I just think that's the way things are,
It's better them than me,
Or that I've some right to my privilege,
From geneology?
Sometimes I think,
Not being rich or poor,
Affords me peace of not having to ask,
Which grates on my concience a little more.

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