Dirty Old Town
Poverty and diseases poor families fight to survive

Dirty Old Town
The streets are thick with soot and rain
a child stands waiting, thin with pain
her dress is torn, her shoes are weak
she hides her hunger, does not speak
The chimneys choke, the mills still roar
we line for bread outside the store
the coins are few, the mouths are more
I cannot feed them as before
The night is cold, the fire is small
a single loaf to share with all
their eyes are wide, they beg for meat
yet empty bowls are what they meet
The river stinks of ash and lead
the sick lie restless in their bed
no doctor comes, no cure is near
we bury hope and fight down fear
The factory doors will never close
from dawn to dark the children go
their hands are raw, their bodies bent
for pennies earned and spirit spent
The mothers trade their rings for crumbs
the fathers break their backs for sums
so slight, so cruel, they barely keep
a roof above, a chance to sleep
The alley whispers, the gutters sing
a song of hunger echoing
each cry, each cough, each shiver shown
reminds me we are not alone
No light will shine, no mercy found
just starving souls on broken ground
a dirty town that strips us bare
and leaves us dying in the air

About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️




Comments (1)
This is almost Dickensian , that life was true for many and still is in some places