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every common man

a sonnet  
 
“The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the  
abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide  
enough for those who have too little.”—Franklin D. Roosevelt  
 
i envy not the poor man in his crypt,  
nor crave red wine the opulent have sipped.  
though crawl i not, like some do, in the dust,  
my liberty no passport so unjust  
 
to render them the lowest of the low.  
when winds of fortune on some orchards blow,  
their harvests mock the destitute who begs,  
outside tight iron gates, for crumbs and dregs.  
 
when winds of fate are, by Miss Fortune, spread  
upon the path where hope has made my bed,  
shall i a footpath of his little make,  
who suffers more and feels a deeper ache?  
 
the capital of every common man  
is fending for his brother while he can.  
 
© Copyright 2024 February 14  
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Written by cabcool
Published | Edited 16th Feb 2024
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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