Thistle Down

By Ethel

Hunger-Pangs

The inward knawing,
When hunger pains arrive.
Is the want to have renewed,
Sustainance in our lives.

Empty vessels lying still,
Within the body wall.
And no supply is being alloted,
When nature makes her call.

T'is as a famine,
When drought is in the ground.
When boney-structured children,
Are squatting all around.

Where actions have no price,
To pauper...or a king.
When fuel for this living fire,
Is a low and smoldering thing.

Where sanity is being numbed,
Stricken by the fangs.
Of gaunt forms standing there,
Stark...like hunger pangs.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

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