THE hungry children cry for bread, and I would gladly see them fed; my bosom bleeds for little ones who have no doughnuts, pies or buns, and I would help them out, I ween, but need my coin for gasoline. In yonder hut a human drove is gathered round an empty stove; the father long has had disease—an influenza in his knees—the mother's washed for folks in town until her health is broken down. Grim famine in that shack abides, and all the wretched inmates rides. I'd gladly help them in their plight, and bring them food and warmth and light, and make their empty kettle boil, but need my coin for gas and oil. As I go jaunting near and far, in my upholstered touring car, I see around me signs of want—and they disturb my little jaunt. I'd like to aid the ones who starve, and give them ducks and hens to carve. With loaded arms I'd like to go wherever there is want or woe, wherever there is grief or care, and spread some warmth and sunshine there! I'd like to do it, but, alas, I need my coin for oil and gas. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FONTENOY, 1745: 1. BEFORE THE BATTLE: NIGHT by EMILY LAWLESS THE ROSE TREE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS CHRISTMAS HYMN by HARRIET AUBER CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: APOLOGY TO CLEO by WILLIAM BASSE 1916 SEEN FROM 1921 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |