Refuges about to arrive,
After a long and hard drive,
Believing a chance to survive,
Held back hope started to revive,
Before the surprise.
People who thought they had seen it all,
Found an unwelcome wall,
Again hopes would stall,
Laden hearts would fall.
What an irony,
Only for those with money,
Welcome in the land of milk and honey,
Expecting ready crops,
They were greeted by cops,
Saying turn around, don't stop.
Wouldn't let the tired flop,
Wouldn't share their slop,
Without money to swap.
For those California did keep,
Prices where steep,
Pay was cheap,
Folks couldn't earn their keep.
Little work was found,
Little pay when work was found,
Still hunger did abound.
While fruit was wasting on the ground,
No trespassing sign all around,
Guarded by mean hounds.
Living in a Hooverville,
Barely migrant camp frills,
Sleeping in the night chill,
Hungry driven ills.
Only those others living in despair,
With little to spare,
Would share.
Those with plenty to spare,
Those who could share,
Would nothing share.
In this grand land,
The opportunity land,
Those dealt a bad hand,
Only feel the helping hand,
Of another weak hand.
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