Socialism needs an opt-out for the folks like me.
Doesn’t mean I want to shut out souls in poverty.

Just that sharing’s much more fun when I decide to give.
Ev’n the crankiest curmudgeon wants poor folks to live.

But it grates that regulation twists my liberal arm.
Presses me for my donation, “lets” me sell the farm.

True compassion I would render to the brotherhood,
Never shirking role of spender for the common good.

Yet I’m stymied in my caring, curiously enough,
When the government starts tearing  through my private stuff.

It’s like saying whom I must love, never letting me
Freely choose to be a part of warm felicity.

And . . .
What of charity’s receiver, plebian, once proud?
Now required under-achiever in the welfare crowd.

If she rises from her ashes, if she shirks her place.
Suddenly, the system slashes “benefits” apace.

Now, by council isolated from her former peers.
Up the ladder climbs unaided by the rich “top-tiers.”

While support they once would offer, now their fists are shut--
Uncle Sam has taxed their coffer, swiped the needy’s cut.

What if government gave freedom for us all to choose?
If the statutes guaranteed ‘em untouched revenues?

Might that self-rule foster good-will for our fellow-man?
Couldn’t independence instill kindness in our land?

Maybe it’s just me that could’ve soared above the rule,
Let the generosity of God become the fuel. . . that

Powered me to love my neighbor, opened wide my hand,
Shared the fruit of friendship’s labor with each one, first hand.

Either way, I need that opt-out:  Liberty’s control,
Giving me the chance to hand out, freely, from my soul.