Mother Europe - Poem by Leo Yankevich
Smoke in the alley of her love,
rank smouldering rags inside a barrel,
as swarthy Syrians push and shove,
like Moors of old, determined, feral.
They’ll raise the crescent, kill the dove,
till “Allah Akbar” drowns our carol.
Our children will learn soon enough,
in Europe, foolish, vain and sterile.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You