Poem And Poverty

Neither have I measured the life with coffee spoon Nor did hips ever become a drum to beat, at noon Cruel hunger like autumn paved the path for spring I dreamed; for empty tummy within the poverty ring. I measured life with tear full tumbler like a gambler Breathe stucks up on stake and eyes and mind blur Initially Lord gave me poverty and then thought Now held pen with pain, for you, poems, I brought. Whether you read or not, poems, here on poem hunter I will write, so as to ease myself and my agony, for barter