Deprived Poem by Dean Bottomlley

Spoilt little rich kid; you don't know how lucky you are;
Food from Fortnum and Mason, delivered to you in a car.
Think of the son of a poor man, earning what little he's able;
Working too hard, going without, just to put food on the table.

But that boy has the love of a Father to feed a far deeper need.
Memories of a happy childhood on which through his life he will feed.

Spoilt little rich kid; you don't know how lucky you are
Warm in designer clothing, you pass in a luxury car.
Think of the son of a poor man, dressed from a charity store.
His clothes are somebody's cast off, his best once somebody wore.

But that boy has the love of a family to keep him cozy and snug.
Is a designer label as warm as a hug full of love?

Spoilt little rich kid; you don't know how lucky you are
A private education, that path can carry you far.
Think of the son of a poor man, he won't ever have your start.
Buried in a comprehensive, in life just a lowly part.

But that boy has the fun of friendship to carry him through days of strife.
Shared secrets, fun and laughter some friends that will last all his life.

When you sit round your telly at Christmas I'll be alone in my room.
Surrounded by trappings of riches; while you are surrounded by love.
I often think of the poor kid and wonder how he has survived.
You're fooled by designer labels: not only the poor are deprived