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Dustbowl
 
Those bars of attrition are very, real
Where a life, might only be monetary
Where survival, is counted in days
Not in years, and your very next meal
Has little nutrition, and feeds the many
And isn't shared equally; in this malaise
People, children die, and so few grow old.

Their sky is a bone-yard of black-sunlight
Its gods own country, but it's like he has left
And the lands a dustbowl, Oh Lord, behold
This plight of hunger you have umpired
Will this evil suffering be addressed?
It's no Garden of Eden, but we do our best
Send us some rations, and we'll do the rest.

The BRAIN TEASE challenge
'odbelh' 'behold'

By Mark Heathcote

© 2018 Mark Heathcote (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The BRAIN TEASE challenge-read page for rules, info, and word to UNSCRAMBLE (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The BRAIN TEASE challenge-read page for rules, info, and word to UNSCRAMBLE (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The BRAIN TEASE challenge-read page for rules, info, and word to UNSCRAMBLE (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The BRAIN TEASE challenge-read page for rules, info, and word to UNSCRAMBLE (challenge has been closed)


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