Go boothward young doves then fly
And ram that polling slot with a nay
A no for any veto no for any delay
And fie for that Novemberous dismay
Thou art the thriving future of today
Thou art the crimson hope that will slay
The horror of the Big Brother and Lady Lai
And weed out that gory era of disarray
Go forward, no recoil, come along hey
I am waiting you, I can't help it, you know
All of a nation, Africa north most will chant and cry
With the joy of a young boy, with a hell of sigh
And march and shout and chant high
In streets in cafes on hills in plains of rye
I love you Tunisia, I do love you smile, waltz and sway
Never will I let you shed tears never will I cry
Moez Ben Meftah
25/10/2014
11 pm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem