Was once an owl,
Thereafter turned a sheep,
wit once a tool,
Could sink distress deep
when strong I was
Today, no chance at all
I sold my hoes
To buy a silver plate
I lost weight as I starved
Close to the grave
Holding my plate
No food in the plate
No money had i saved
All lost
Begging for coins
Held in chains
Pleasure To Starve
Francis Omariba
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Poem topics: food, money, silver, today, sheep, deep, chance, strong, grave, distress, lost, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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