.4. Till They Drop Poem by David Threadgold

Swirling steam clouds climbing high
Factory chimneys fill the sky
Sunlight blocked by thick black grime
Pollution turned the streams to slime

Workers cough’s turned to blood
Can’t go sick but know they should
None tell bosses fearing sack
Cough’s get worse now turning black

Smoking chimneys dust and grime
Breathed by all within their time
Doctors try to treat their ill’s
By feeding them with non-stop pills

Workers high now just past caring
Full of drugs that leave them staring
No more willpower, cannot stop
All keep working till they drop


© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes