In the beaten down hut, a groan; a voice calling out for help, a wordless whisper to the rich, of Hunger and of Thirst. A breaking moment for the poor. Greed thats merciless, leaders pocket donations; another groan; a voice rasied in disgust. Robbing the less priviledged, stealing a right for life. Ribs seen through tattered shirts, dry skin, ashen for lack of norishment lack of health. stolen rights. ''Happiness'' a strange word? No way! I have heard of it. But it slowly diminishes, lost in vocabulary. There it goes again, The groan. More persistent, calling to you for help. Help to the hungry, a call for equality, From that haunting groan.