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I know a little about privilege, having been born what you may call poor,
In a council house, with the "Tallyman" always at the door,
Ice, on the inside of the windows in the wintertime,
And for recreation, a river to swim in and a conker tree down the road to climb,
A two mile walk across the fields to school,
Avoiding the wet so it wouldn’t soak the cardboard in the sole of my shoe,
Don’t feel sorry for me! The privilege was all mine,
Two parents that would both give precious love and time,
To have met the people through my life that I have, to have seen now with age, both sides of that fence,
Past, present and, future tense,
A life that many “Rich” kids don’t get the chance to experience.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2013
About this poem:
A Tallyman was someone that would loan people money for a high rate of interest, especially those who are less well off. Life is the journey hey!

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Comments (14)

Great perspective, enjoyed your poem.
Good stuff my friend, I can really appreciate the sentiments here. Good seeing you and regards...Jessehandshake
Hi Andrew ..... its a privilege to be able to read this write....enjoyed the insight ...thanks for sharing ......regards Nu
wow Andrew that did indeed bring memories back. The provedent check mangrin Never mind as long as whatever background we end up good people, AND good poets.peace teddybear
Hi, andrew149,
...what you may call... Two parents that would both give precious love and time... I'd call that wealthy, indeed. The privilege of knowing the poet and his verse is mine, for sure. Thanks for sharing.
It's the personal challenges and struggles in life that make us who we are. Life is about kicking a**~~not kissing it.lips
You sound a man comfortable in your own skin Andrew good write wine wine wine
Hi Andrew, Nice piece, Sure was a different time alright...But the Tallymen are still making their rounds unfortunately.Cheersbeer Anthony.
a deep and beautifully penned piece andrew angel i can relate
when i was growing up it was the ditches and lakes we swam in and the trees where always at the parks, growing up poor is a privlage that the welthey will truly never know, the poor have rich full lives and the welthey are spoild and blind to what life is truly all about.
Superb poem Andrew, my life was so like yours, ice on the windows on our council prefab. I feel sorry for rich kids. hug purple heart
Hi Andrew,

I guess not too many of us are born with a silver spoon in our mouths. We are all aspirant. Like you I had a wonderful childhood. I have no regrets. I've knocked about with all. Fortunately we were never poor but then I suspect growing up in Australia is totally different to England. Fortunately our society did push egalitarianism. This is a wonderful,insightful poem. Thanks for sharing. cheers
Dear Andrew,my mum used to tell tales, growing up among Scottish resident in Singapore,very benevolent and even paid for my mum to be seen by a doctor,as she carried my two year old mum in the carriage. . .
yours seem like those good old days, black and white and very warm, filled with love and humane dignity.
this is truly a timepiece from your heart.
I feel the serene peace emitting from it.
Happy Halloween or is it sainheim for you?
Morgan aka Ancient Bullman
Thank you eye to lens to page...i am pleased you enjoyed it...Andrew...xxxcool
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