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The morsels of a poor man,
They are as dry as desert sands.

He runs here and there to live,
To search for food for his entirely family,
But comes back home like a beaten old man,
Wearied and tired with no penny in his pocket.


BUT...

Why is life created like this?
Some are rich; some are poor.
Are we created to be a vagabond in the land of glory?
Are we created not to spend the money you spend?
God, please help us from poverty,
We are tired,
Take us out of this stinking place.

It reads as both a poem and a plea to God. I relate with this very much, running here to there just to earn enough to eat, and what I'm allotted is not delightful even after all that work.