1880 Worn Hands and Poverty

1880 Worn Hands and Poverty

Dawn breaks cold on a house too small,

Five mouths to feed, no rest at all.

Three jobs waiting, no time for tears,

A life of hunger, a life of hard years.

Soap won’t clean the dirt and grime,

Sweat and dust, the price of time.

Hands are cracked, the work is rough,

Still, it never feels enough.

He once stood strong, proud and tall,

Now he’s nothing, now he falls.

Jobless, penniless, held back,

A man now lost on a one-way track.

Coins run thin, the cupboards bare,

Bills stack high, no mercy there.

No space to dream, no time for rest,

Just one more shift, just one more test.

The world don’t care for women like her,

Breaking, bending, never heard.

She keeps on moving, day and night,

Trying to keep everything right.