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When living became an uphill task,
In soldier's camp we sought resort
In narrow straits found them caught,
They lived on bread, stale and scorched,
No drop of drink, nor spoon of broth.
My friends, I found, were nearing death,
Deprived of good were all I met,
Each and all were poverty pressed,
If one had a thread, he had no rope,
If one had a carpet, none to roll.
Life was a struggle against heavy odds,
The grocers fret, the vendors bawl,
They used their swords and shields as cots.
The kings and councilors, were bankrupts all. (en) |
