His Children

My children are vicious, dry and old,
Envious, weary, wretched, cold.
Deep eyes, hard skin, their beards are small.
They’re lame, misshapen, depraved withal.
Traitorous, brooding, greedy, pale,
They often find themselves in jail.
They grub the dirt, dig graves, plow land,
In foul and stinking clothes they stand.
Condemned to die or live in sorrow,
Sweat and strain, or trouble borrow,
Always needy, never free,
It’s Saturn’s children there you see.