The Song of the Poor in Certain Cities. Located on Rivers

In our old river city it was ever the same
Fort, prison, cathedral loomed in the rain
There to remind us of heaven and pain
And where we belong in the loss and the gain

Fort, prison, church, and the river between,
We worked and we died and are seldom seen
In the history books where the masters go clean
Lying and strutting and licking the cream

Now the river flows on at its seasonal paces
But power’s gone elsewhere and hidden its bases
Guns, locks, and Bibles have changed their faces
Fort, prison, cathedral are tourist places

Aura, AmosLAB 2018