(20 minute poetry)

Breaking out the cider as we sit beside the river and our dreams go ever downstream in the cycle of the seasons,

If there's resting there is reason and we scout the book of knowledge 'till we find the page we settle on and drink a bit more cider

and it comes to our attention that the span is getting wider 'tween the one's that have and those that don't and those that won't allow it.

And we sit and wonder why
underneath an Autumn sky

if there is inequality then change it
rearrange this awful system
feed the poor and bring the rest in from the cold.

An old adage will tell me

that 'the quality of mercy is not strained',
but I'm pained to have to  tell you
that the rich have more than
you do
and that's the way they'll keep it

just as long as we sit drinking by the river and only thinking

that's the way
that it
will definitely stay.