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They have to bear the burden
They have to bear the burden
For they are servants, and they masters
This nosy calibre who want spades
Rather than spoons to scoop better grain.
They wrench from the weak what they have not sowed.
Their servants make no noise.The air's not ripe
To make their grouse, so it seems.
But they do amaze me too; i see them
Clapping accolades of approval and dancing
To the tune of their jig when small change
Reaches their palms.Fifty bucks're
Enough to arouse songs of love and praises
Though not from their hearts but their mouths.
They go to prayer houses on holy days,
Pray like Pharisees, drop their koboles
On holy altars while the masters
Leave their marked zaka on sealed envelopes.
They are the great friends of holy places, always
Questing for miracles to increase their possessions.
