Richly Poor

I see them,

walking along the hem,

 of our paved roads,

in droves and hordes,

Richly garbed in caftans,

outstretched cups and pans,

faces garbed in sadness,

Attires shouting happiness,

They say they come,

slithering like worms,

from up north,

bringing little of worth,

So they urge us all,

to bring out our all,

to whet their palates,

filling their cavernous plates,

Yet their attires tell,

a tale we know well,

they are the dregs,

from northern wine kegs,

Driven out by laziness,

pushed by their greediness,

to feed on our essence,

from our meager existence,

Yet, we shall not refuse,

we shall not treat them like refuse,

like they really are,

for they have walked really far.

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