You, You give me the need to speak
To reiterate the long dead cry
Of those who have no song
But whose lyrics keep living on
You, You make me sit the straighter
To hear lost wisdom’s insights
Of those who died for more
Than to gain the wealth of the poor
You, You beckon troubled tears
To see you jest in crude disrespect
Of those who searched for truth
And lived more wisely after their youth
You, You place the pen to my hand
To portray your base character
Of those foolish infant minds
Who deny value in the reflection of time
By Ruth L. Rivers
1/05/09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem