Languid misery, grey decay,
Sneering fools with endless pay,
These suit clad beings,
Ensnare the heart,
And take us with them into dark.
They pity hope,
They mock true love,
They ridicule the peaceful dove.
'Regretfully, ' they say, 'money talks.'
'Regretfully, ' they say, 'send them back in boats.'
'Regretfully, ' they say, 'greed is good.'
'Regretfully, ' they say, 'we live to shoot.'
Wage wars, steal land,
Squeeze pennies from a mother's hand,
Set tasks for cripples,
And block the courts,
Barricade our lonely ports.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem