Bread and Roses

Empty cupboards wail
silence to the night,
filled as they are
with dreams of plenty.

Hours of light are
spent on worries,
on others, on a struggle
to finish the day.

Evening echoes in tears
as warmth falls.
It comes back to this;
long queue for scraps.

Bread and roses
are all that remains
to see the sadness
of a kitchen hunger.

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