Time for a bit of Protest poetry.

 

The Hill of Content.

 

There’s rowdy celebration

In the houses of Beaumont.

There’s champagne corks a poppin’

Amid cheery faces of content.

But there’ll be no smiling faces

In the lowland avenues,

Just wasted young people treading

The weary paths to local dole queues.

There’ll be a dozen new dreams fostered

In well appointed offices.

Their well-fare’d suckled children

Safely tucked in colleges.

But there’ll be no dreams for children

Of the outer city sprawl,

Save the dream of permanent income

From the social welfare maw.

And you can’t help having contempt

For those folk on “Content Hill”,

When they ravish “well-stocked tables”

While we swallow the bitter pill.

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