All of this whimsical nonsence you speak of
It conufses me and angers me to no end
How can you sit there and say these things
When children die every day
When homes are destroyed
And lives are forgotten
When war is at no end
and Death seems to climb
How can you sit there and say that life is good
that life is grand
When every day life seems to lessen and lessen
You can sit there with your fat little sausage fingers
Groping for a french frie in your childs happy meal
Or you can do something about it
And make life the winner
But we both know
the latter is less convenient.
go plant a tree for your instant gratification
i hope it withers up and dies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem