Mother's RuinA Poem by Chris Shaw(written after looking at William Hogarth's art work, Gin Lane 1750 and reading Wiki)
From words digested it appears
that London could have sunk in gin. Rock bottom price, its poor would drink their days away. No fear within of consequences for the drunk. The clunk of prison keys or worse, untaxed, it was a boozer's curse. It may have been a cure for gout or settled indigestion pain, if moderation had her way. Instead the idea of restraint was put to bed without complaint. Inebriates consumed their hell as birth rates spiralled down the well. Reforms to curb consumption's peak drove distillation underground, where names like "knock me down" were found or "cuckold's comfort" (secret gin). Blackmarket prices soared and then try pawn your wife if you're left short. Exchange her for a measured quart.
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11 Reviews Added on April 20, 2018 Last Updated on April 20, 2018 AuthorChris ShawBerkshire, United KingdomAboutAlbert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..Writing
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