Mike Bell/ November 8, 2015/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

It was first called ‘Welfare’ by a proud state –
no more ideal – we are now told to berate –

Ever less likely to be paid to me –
freelance with Parkinson’s at fifty-three –

Welfare – not there – services sold –
uprooting our ill – our poor – our old –

Any vacuum is filled – so it is said –
but they’ll suffocate welfare until it’s dead –

One nation built high on the backs of the old –
we should pay more in tax so welfare’s not sold

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