The Economic Paradox

Mayhap I'm dull, mayhap I'm dense,
Mayhap I lack experience,
But I have burned the midnight oil
And spent long hours in studious toil
Striving in vain to understand
The evils that assail our land;
Only to grope in thicker mists
Evoked by our economists.
 
In this, our country wonderful,
With surpluses of wheat and wool,
Depression in the first place brings
A lack of these essential things.
Why, first of all, a lack of these,
Before a dearth of luxuries?
Bootmakers, out of work, have trod
The weary way with men ill-shod
Or lacking shoes.  But why this lack?
"Credit," the sages answer back.
"I've heard of this; but why, oh, why?
"And how?" I impotently cry.
To be assaulted by hard rocks
Of economic paradox.

"Over-production," shouts the sage.
"This is the evil of the age.
All countries must know Want's grim touch
Who venture to produce too much,
And markets ply with surplus stocks.
Surely this is no paradox."
 
In other words, because the glade
Is full of trees, we have no shade;
Because the darkening skies pour out
Abundant rain, there is a drought;
Because the world has wealth to waste,
To this grim poverty is traced;
Because the world has too much bread,
Vast millions needs must go unfed,
With nought but sorry rags to wear,
Because the world has cloth to spare.
 
I give it up.  I only know
The puzzle is it should be so;
And all the sages' logic vain
Does nought to loose the tangled skein.
To lift the mist, I grope, I guess --
Is progress vain?  Do we progress?
If so, is it worth all the cost
Of what 'twould seem poor man had lost
In this mad economic strife --
The simple, savage art of life?