He always seemed a bit naïve
This bony man, this towering reed;
But he sang wh such boyish élan
This old man who made his banjo twang;
He was old when I was young
On the college stage he bravely sung
A commie, tall and so highly strung;
Just where did he think that he came from?
He sang out for the union, the working man
The smile on his face was clear and grand
He sang proudly of the gifts of the land
A Bolshevik with a five year plan.
The plutocrats let him sing
This bean pole man with the naïve grin
He was harmless, old, an antiquated Boris,
Who chided students to join him in the chorus;
He hated injustice, he hated war,
He loved America from shore to shore
It’s a good thing that he never got a hammer
He would have ended up in the slammer;
He tried to change the world with songs
In the hippie ‘60s he sang at every sing-along;
Now I’m old and still I hear his song
His reedy voice that protested every wrong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a warm tribute David to the legend who lent his voice against injustice.