Welth Of The Poor

The poor wakes up early in the morning,
Searching his daily livelihoods,
His justness, power, And ability,
Are the visual to luckiness.

He always hopes for the best,
But expecting the worst,
His peace and happiness,
Are the tears of his broken heart,
Response to sadness,
Is more than the terror,
Of the pregnant woman,
Approaching labor.

He lags more power,
Though never say never,
To him life is just like,
An actor behind the scene,
But admires living long.

To him troubles never end,
That's wane be young forever,
How?, when?, And why?,
Will never get answers.

Best at smoking weeds,
Watching the skies,
Tramping up and down the streets,
And looking up to Gods,
But censure is an important,
Wealth of the poor.