Everyone has his God.
Whether it be money or an idol stood on a pod.
The strangest thing I find to bear,
Is when you need him he’s just not there.
He was never there when the bombs exploded
He was never there when the cliffs eroded.
He was never there when our soldiers died.
He was never there when the politicians lied.
He was never there when the planes hit the tower
He was never there when all those kids were made to cower.
He was never there when Hitler built his army.
He was never there when they faced the raging Tsunami.
He was not there when I gazed in wonderment at the web of a spider.
He was not there when I watched an Eagle soar like a glider.
He was not there when I watched in awe at the fish in a shoal.
Twisting and shimmering, running from dolphins, to eat them their goal.
He was not there when I looked at the Stallion galloping with glee.
He was not there again when I saw the whale sounding in the sea.
He was not there when I trod the dew soaked meadow, and stood under the spreading age old oak tree.
But most of all he was not there when I sat my new born baby girl on my knee
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
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