Dear mr. president

Dear Mr. president,
Do you ever think about the tears,
the people that have cried?
And do you ever think,
That it's your fault that people have died?

And do you ever think,
while you sleep in your four poster bed,
500 African children died today,
because they couldn't be fed.

And while you wife sits down,
to have her recent Botox,
a mother of five made their son,
a bed out of a cardboard box.

Then when you sit and tell us,
that this world is a horrible place,
well read this poem again sir.....
it's you who's in disgrace.

Signed......Bobby Murcott........