The nights were afire
In my salad days-
I found what I was after,
Counting the ways.
The pale green flesh
I consumed made me One
With a glorified Nature;
The Native Americans & I
Fought no more forever.
The Little Big Horn
Is a dried-up gulch
Nowadays.
Let us not divide
Our rights & plights.
Let us not eat at McDonalds.
Let us not
Fall into diabetes' lot,
But sweat our bodies
Into submission.
Born into every body is
Death; it is not behavior.
I & they must respect
The dying, even as they waver.
Go to a Hopi plateau
And look out from there
And into forever.
Great poetry as usual...Stan i humbly ask u to please unblock me your killing me! xo
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I've never seen the allure of McDonalds, grease balls should be cheaper than what they sell theirs for. People have forgotten what it is to eat that which is not processed.