Twenty Four

In the Spring twilight, you see the poor, huddled by the security line, it's cold for the season, sons and daughters, share the same freedom, on the river a Neap tide, brings a truth sought, you don't need an inquiry, to shiver in the lee, city lights over the port, sick of being, or worry about time, if you've been caught, in some policy drive, it's just the reason, to head for the slaughter, like a guilty plea, every walk of life, ends here with nought, some bring their wives, they crowd the back door.