The Mighty Levy

A poem about Taxation

Every year we die a little death.

An excessive weight bears our bodies down.

So severe, that it takes away our breath;

Run down to the very bloody ground.



Levy never ceases to punish all;

Punishing us all with his fiscal whip.

Working under his beck and call

It's a bitter medicine that he makes us sip.



The mighty Levy doesn't stop his trick

Every year he taunts us with his forked tongue

Crushing us all to death; we all fall sick.

Young or old--We all by Levy get stung.



There's no escape, no haven, no mercy

No one can escape the Mighty Levy.



© Mary Aris, All rights reserved