Hannah Hoy Poems

If we reap what we sow
And what we sow is violence
Then violence will show
And end all in silence.
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I keep forgetting you don't see the same as I do
You don't see the same as me
You don't see the tiny little things that people do
The tiny little things that make them, them
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An Angel on Earth, my Grandmother was
An Angel in Heaven, she is today.
She cared for all, and asked for none in return
For when you were down, she'd lift you off the ground.
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It's the pit-a-patter of rain,
Among the whispering of the wind.

The falling of a misty haze,
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Among the fields of a wasteland Earth,
There stood her armies,
For all they were worth.
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Who am I?
Am I the stranger you see on the street,
Tapping her foot to the sound of the hidden beat?
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I see everything,
Yet I see nothing.
How can this be?
You can too.
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