Comments about Yen Cress
From inland mountains to the salt-soaked shore,
From China's border to the southern plains,
The earth lies drenched in sweat and bloody gore,
And tears keep falling like the summer rains.
Where is the peace we offered to restore?
What have we done, and who has paid the price?
Two million bodies live and breathe no more,
And corpses rot in graves near fields of rice.
A father weeps; his only son is dead.
Small children cry; their mothers cannot come.
A boy is blinded; old rags swathe his head.
Young widows beg the mercy of Quan Am.
The Viet ...
To My Survivors
Before I give myself to Mother Earth
To cycle back to dust from whence I came,
I want to say a word about my birth,
Before the world forgets my humble name.
Suppose I'd never lived, had not been born,
Had never drawn that first, most fateful breath,
Nor waked to greet each day, morn after morn,
Had not remained, defying early death.