it is then... <br />the small people, <br />common men and women, <br />who by their hands built this dream, <br />who plowed the fields, <br />paved the roadways... <br />who picked your fruit, <br />who built your small businesses. <br />who worked your factories and mills. <br />who built your homes and churches. <br />who drove your trucks, who fixed your cars, <br />who made your clothes and your furniture. <br />who worked for too little <br />to make you too rich.... <br />who hauled your trash, <br />who wiped your asses. <br />who worked as cashiers, clerks, and salesmen. <br />who covered for you when you were sick, <br />yet worked when they were sick. <br />who laid your bricks, who cut your logs, <br />who stocked your grocery stores. <br />who dug your graves and fought your damn wars, <br />the small people, that you throw away! <br /> <br />no jobs, no work, no benefits, no insurance... <br />no medical care, no cars... <br />no lights, no rent, no food, no shelter... <br />no name, no reason to be! <br /> <br />the small people... <br />too old, too tired, too angry, too used up. <br />self taught, no degree, experience doesnt count. <br /> <br />the small people.... <br />pushed into a corner, <br />stacked in the alleyways. <br />broken wheels turning on broken glass. <br /> <br />the small people.... <br />staring back from your mirror, <br />from the darkness outside your window. <br /> <br />the small people... <br />who are not going <br />to take it anymore!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-small-people/
