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Date Written: October 9, 2017

Dirty feet, caked with dust

blistered and cracked, returning

from our late night food forage

lay in the same bed, of the kitchen

we share, sleeping soundlessly

the others not to rouse

in clothes worn all day

to rest I must come.


Counting  sheep I succumb

five hundred counted I

and yet no sleep to bleat off

Kicking the covers we stitched

from heavy, old worn-out clothes,

I ventured out into the dark.


Before the steel black moss covered taps

I stand and stare, not to awake the rest

I must scrub clean, drenched in

cold, icy water I make do

sparkling clean I feel

using the clothes I had worn

reverse side to dry off,

into my bed I crept

slept like a Babe I did


Now awake in my fortress

to bed we must adjourn

each room fitted with it’s own bath

my cupboards I open as an aftermath

every colour of sleepwear

before my eyes I gleam


Never in my recency had I

ever slept in clothes worn during

my day nor taken a bath under

an icy cold running tap


To wrap up this bard

I am eternally grateful for

the lard in my kitchen minus the bed

and a pauper's dream I shall redeem 

2 comments on “PAUPER’S”

  1. River.Ophelia     October 18, 2017

    nice write

    1. JessicaMars     October 18, 2017


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