Around supper hour
Marking the end of day
A lot of scampering takes place
Because there was too much play
Sweeping under the proverbial rug
We pout and point
Exclaim: Not enough work and
Just look at this joint
We all suffer that feeling
A personal form of guilt
Then we try to tear apart
What someone else has built
We neglected what we had to do
Took a needless trip into town
Thought there’s always tomorrow
Why let this get me down
There are still a few hours
Before we go to bed
Pare the chore list to where
We’re in the black and not the red
Tomorrow will be a much better
We will start with new resolve
Outcomes will be splendid
Today’s neglect will be absolved
And back to hunger pangs
Do we know what they are?
We live in luxury and excess
Compared to real strife
There is nothing close to par
Our discards would be treasures
So easy for us to provide if only
We give up some of our pleasures
Truth is the startling arbitrator
From it we cannot hide
We know the things we must do
If the hungry are to survive
What do we have to lose?
When we have such excess
If we faced these precious souls
Would we not hold and caress?
Stanski on October 12, 2020 ^
Steve Haarman 