The wretched gather

This place of drink and of smoke

Bright lights and promise

Weeks wages folded neatly

Hidden in their Sunday best

There is no preacher

No pews, no heavenly choir

To welcome the flock

Yet hope for the future lives

In each pull, in each hand dealt

Praying for riches

To resurrect their belief

In this countries dream

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~