There's a real risk that the poor rich suffer
For which their bank accounts provide no buffer.
In fact their money can build huge walls of wealth,
Isolating their concept of the world's mental health.
What they see and hear is usually through a servant
Whose motives are most often much less than fervent.
The actual world that lies beyond their gifted breeds
Is rife with downtrodden and their unfulfilled needs…
Much like the days of yesteryear when royal stalls
Were protected from heathens by motes and walls.
Unfortunately, as history has so often shown,
Conflict arises when a class declares wealth their own.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem