Thought, passing by that night,
how poverty was dull
where charity imposed
too much on unfree will.
The house condemned could rot
sure dividends a while yet.
Phrases which sour my tongue
rise surly from a year
we muddled in two rooms,
the virtuous poor, my dear.
Through the wall the common john,
our landlady’s shrill modest song.
(Kendrick Smithyman)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Mind Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Poverty PoemsBased on Keywords: landlady, dividends, unfree