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Thin

Thin, thin was the soup
ladled into the bowl.
It was watered down to make it last
as if it would keep them whole.

Thin, thin were the bodies
that sat 'round the table to eat.
They shared the watery sparseness of soup
with nary a piece of meat.

A time of discontent was here
and stomachs were never full.
This was the time they'd heard about,
stories that seemed so dull.

These stories were told with passion
by those who came before.
They jumped out of windows and stood in lines
saying, 'Please may I have some more? '

Thin, thin are the excuses
given by those in power.
No substance to substantiate the lies
given us hour by hour.

And so where does this leave us,
facing a 3rd world war?
For times become prosporous.
Isn't that what wars are for?

Thin, thin are the hopes now
that sanity will pervade the mind
of those who reap the profits
while our youth again will find

that they have been used as fodder
to bring our economy back.
Thin, thin are the excuses
for us being on the wrong track.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Added by Poetry Lover
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