Swine

I feel fed on by ravenous crows, a murder of them tearing at my spirit with hungry maws.
At home I make an appetizer plate of it and offer it to my children. Them I wish to feed, but they won't eat.
I return to the town square and they take and trample my gifts under a pretext of civility and general goodness. They tell me what a wonderful job I am doing and ask me for more and more. Then they take it and chew it and spit it out. 
I feel weakened to the marrow afterwards. I keep returning to the village for the benefit of my children, but who benefits from the con of life?
My children like to play with the other children but they don't do the work the townspeople give them. And I spill all of my life blood and effort on the cobblestones in the square, for the benefit of the community, but who is watching for the best interest of my own brood?
What sustenance will they gain if I waste all the nourishment I have to offer on swine and let my offspring be indoctrinated by swine?