It’s a sign of our time
So many dear ones
Used up their last dime
It’s a sad commentary
I no longer read headlines
Their jolting makes me wary
I have surgically cut out
All luxurious “extras”
I abhor this burning drought
Has prosperity passed?
Grim-gritty-grunting-grind!
Can ingrained spunk outlast?
Or is poverty … a state of mind?
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