In the Mourning

When I rise again, in the mourning, 

I'll find no one to greet me.

Instead, I'll see poverty invade the limits

of the greedy.

When I rise again, in the mouring,

I'll see the polluted streets and say,

"If only I could find a newly formed paradise

and run there to stay.

When I rise again, in the mourning,

I will straighten the crookeds and right all my wrongs,

for I have only days to live, 

and it won't be long.