Baby, this will make us look be-a-u-ti-ful.
The difference between rich and poor
Has and always will be good lighting,
Marching orders-- no interrogations,
Hang the **** string lights,
Swivel the sconces to the left a hair,
Light me up baby, yes. Be-a-u-ti-ful.
They’re going to see us,
All the way from space think man,
Those ******* sure do have it all,
They must have every last Eaton, Osram
Can you imagine the bill?
Must blow the energy company’s ******* mind.
Yes, baby, yes. More filaments.
Throw some Chicago on the record player while you’re at it,
We’re going to throw the swankiest party this town’s ever seen--
Rich stuff, baby, classy.
Be-a-u-ti-ful.

Update of "A Litany in Time of Plague"
by Michael R. Burch

THE PLAGUE has come again
To darken lives of men
and women, girls and boys;
Death proves their bodies toys
Too frail to even cry.
I am sick, I must die.
    Lord, have mercy on us!

Tycoons, what use is wealth?
You cannot buy good health!
Physicians cannot heal
Themselves, to Death must kneel.
Nuns’ prayers mount to the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
    Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty’s brightest flower?
Devoured in an hour.
Kings, Queens and Presidents
Are fearful residents
Of manors boarded high.
I am sick, I must die.
    Lord, have mercy on us!

We have no means to save
Our children from the grave.
Though cure-alls line our shelves,
We cannot save ourselves.
"Come, come!" the sad bells cry.
I am sick, I must die.
    Lord, have mercy on us!

Keywords/Tags: litany, plague, coronavirus, disease, illness, death, rich, poor, old, young, believers, nonbelievers, Christians, nuns, popes, bishops, pastors, fear, despair, dismay

The world lies with those who bear to change it,
Yet those whom bear idle lie with nothing.
A fool’s young a wise man is old,
Neither bear gold.
Gold doesn’t have to bear glitter,
Silver doesn’t have to sparkle,
But kindness always shines through.

For every poem you write about rich,
write ten more,
each about poor.

For every song you sing about rich,
sing one hundred more,
each about poor.

For every story you tell about rich,
tell one thousand more,
each about poor.

Poor lad lay there blight weak worse
Rough rag spreads on hope or curse
Kind hearts frail to fill his gut
Gold and cents ring from rich purse.

When you are sad,
   you choose to be happy.
When you are poor,
   you choose to be rich.
When you are weak,
   you choose to be strong.
When you are friendless,
   you choose unseen spirits.

When you are not,
   you have no choice but choose.
Any fool can choose,
   and only the strong can fight.
But only the brave and wise,
   surrender and not live a lie.
And when you are dead,
   you cannot choose life.