You who stand meek and mild,
With the innocent banter of a child,
Can you not hear their incessant call?
A tiresome pride that is begetting the fall?
If we are all weak,
then who shall stand,
When their hunger devours the land?
If we all turn the other cheek,
Then who rights the wrongs we shall not speak?
Keep it away,
Safely pushed to the rear,
For to gaze upon it would bring too much fear.
Never see it coming with outstretched hand,
All the sheep keep their heads in the sand.
Your ignorance will not spare you in the end,
It only makes it easier for the cruel to win.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem