I cannot say I understood how bad things were,
 and yet, I knew the look that came into her eyes
 when she would say the word: "poorhouse" --
 an abject horror, and a dread, of what had been, 
 and might yet be. This was her truth:
 and nothing mortals say or do, or ever said,
 or ever did, can take away the fear she knew, 
 and knows, and goes to bed at night with, 
 there in the nursing home, alone 
 wondering, when she wakes in the dark if she 
 is somehow way back there

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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