For 30 Years

The darkness drops again

Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down

The smell of cattle, hay and dust

Without expression, waiting for a sign

How dreary to be somebody

For thirty years, poor and white

And lives alone in the bee loud glade

Late at night, the end of summer

The star’s impulse must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful

Love’s the boy stood on the burning deck

Yet beautiful and bright he stood

Who happens, just now to remember A

Man and boy stood cheering by

What’s freedom for?

Should we clap our hands and dance?

I think we should, love, I think we should.