For the family packing up 

Worldly goods 

All of them, all too soon

And searching for another place

That might last a little longer, 

Than this one, and the one before.

Here, amongst the 

Dirty rags and cleaning products 

The cardboard boxes and the mess,

Remove your shoes

Free your feet

For, in the ancient way of things,

You're standing on holy ground.

 

They strive and work -

As much as any other - 

But watch as their money, fairly earned,

Is whisked off by 

A landlord

Their agent

Our society

No something for tomorrow or old age

No final gift for the children when death comes to call

 

Poorer

All.

Wider and deeper, seeping in and staining.

So cast your eyes

To this holy same place

Here

In the heartache and anger.

You stand not alone -

Love sings a lullaby 

Of hope and home

Of comfort and strength

Of abundance and a gathering together 

Belonging.