A wealthy man is pained to find
His cooks have burned his meat
Tums and thinks he’s been too kind
To the peasants burning his street

“You have no right to light a torch”
He screams at them in vain
Then sits back on his golden porch
And ponders all of his pain

A pauper from the distance sees
As his empty stomach chums
Sniffing at the fragrant breeze
As hunger in his stomach bums

For in the realm of men and kings
Where pavement clears away the trees
Some who are owners of many things
Through life are warm as others freeze