My family are well-known
At a time when nothing we own;
Out of curiosity peering into their window
Nothing but disdain they allow.
I was a little child then,
Floundering now and then.
How hypocritical of them to turn a blind eye,
And for others they provide a pie.
Abroad they all went
For their offspring they bent;
Cursed is the one who gave his hand
I would rather here were their land.
Informed, I later learned,
No acclaim they earned
In a world where a coin counts,
And Scrooger haunts.
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