Poverty looks like
bare feet; skin and bones
a silent sob, and one too many loans.
Poverty looks like
cupped hands; nickels and dimes
a stifled shiver; and multiple fines.
Poverty looks like
sadness, whimpers and tears
a quiet escape; because we let it become
too late.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem