Made up of loveliness alone
Under a spreading chestnut tree
Renewed, the vision of delight
In seeing them all return
To what each one....
Proclaimed them first to be.
Could this then be key?
Grand and remarkable history this
A high-born race with no dis-ease
White was black like starry night
Yet clear, and out of sight
Whilst minds began to churn that fear
Of looking in the mirror
And finding nothing there.
Could this then be prayer?
Old and blind the treadmill
Star-dust and vaporous, the light
In doubt that, they will remember still
The little crash that crushed their might
Within each heart was kept the seal
From whence the dream
That held the deal.
Could this then be real?
Amidst their rugged regiments
Within their uniforms of grey
Buried deep beneath that humble grave
Behind the stone, a conqueror lay
Fat black bucks, in a wine-barrel room
That saw the first brown pair consume
The earth and its vibratory clay.
Could this then be payday?
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by Rev.Bola A.
(copyright:1.11.2009
For more poems by Rev.Bola go here:
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