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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #2131203

Once time they lived a loving life,
a weavers man and common wife.
He toiled his days to pay the bills.
Tho' life was good they shared no frills.

Love flit around the humble home,
on gentle wings, no care to roam.
Tho' by the threshold all the same,
there lingered who one by the name......

Who stirred not there until the day,
the master called them in to say.
The weaving there no more would be,
their jobs were gone, he'd set them free.

Just one and threepence, last his pay.
Such shame he felt this sombre day.
Their lives could be the same no more,
soon'd come the knock upon their door.

His sorrows drowned in ale house there,
his last was spent on wine and beer.
The workhouse then must be his lot.
More wages now there would be not.

Their cupboard empty bare of bread.
The hearth lay cold, the fire dead.
No ale to drink, no loving smile.
The bills not paid for long a while.

The rent not met his wife did cry,
and out the window love did fly.
For came the knock and in stepped he,
one by the name of poverty.
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