A wealthy man is pained to find,
His cooks have burned his meat.
He says to himself, 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 thinks about his pain.

A pauper from the distance sees,
As his empty stomach churns.
Sniffing at the fragrant breeze,
The hunger in his stomach burns.

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.

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