Author Information
Indian
Folder:
old poems that escaped the fire In Winter. In Summer. In Autumn. In Spring.
The children of mother chant praises and sing.
They sang for a planet where all are in love,
through pain and through sadness, with help from above.
They spoke of the great things bound to unfold,
regardless of warning or troubles foretold.
They smiled in mourning and danced in the dark,
remembered the good times and sang with the lark.
The others who saw this gossiped and lied.
They hated the children, destroy them they tried,
"If they be lovers their love they'll regret;"
but the lesson they learned, they'll never forget.
Well, they burned down the houses, defiled the graves,
molested the woman and jailed all the braves.
They stole every treasure, kicked out their teeth,
removed every pleasure and caused them great grief.
They made them as slaves to put them in shape.
The pillaged and murdered, they tortured and raped.
When the deed was all done, and the lovers all dead,
in the hands of their leader a letter that read:
You may mock us and beat us, then kill us and grin;
but you're forgiven, our brothers, your unforgiveable sin.
