Fatherland
THE BRAVE old land of deed and song,
Of gentle hearts and spirits strong,
Of queenly maids and heroes grand,
Of equal laws,—our Fatherland!
Though born beneath a brighter sun,
Shall we forget the marvels done,
By soul outspoken, blood outpoured,
By bard and patriot, song and sword?
Forget how firm and true our sires,
Still lighted by their battle-fires,
’Gainst kingly power and kingly crime,
Long struggled in the darkened time?
How in a rolling sea they stood,
Where every wave was freemen’s blood,—
Shall we forget the time of strife,
When freedom’s only price was life?
Shall Cromwell’s memory, Milton’s lyre,
Not kindle ’mong us souls of fire,
Not raise in us a spirit strong—
High scorn of shams, quick hate of wrong?
Shall we not learn, Australians born!
To smile on tinselled power our scorn,—
At least, a freeman’s pride to try,
When tinselled power would bend or buy?
The brave old land of deed and song,
We ne’er will do her memories wrong!
For freedom here we’ll firmly stand,
As stood our sires for Fatherland!
poem by Sir Henry Parkes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Death-Day Of Korner
A song for the death-day of the brave
A song of pride!
The youth went down to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride.
He went, with his noble heart unworn,
And pure, and high;
An eagle stooping from clouds of morn,
Only to die!
He went with the lyre, whose lofty tone
Beneath his hand
Had thrill'd to the name of his God alone,
And his Father-land.
And with all his glorious feelings yet
In their first glow,
Like a southern stream that no frost hath met
To chain its flow.
A song for the death-day of the brave
A song of pride!
For him that went to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride.
He hath left a voice in his trumpet-lays
To turn the flight,
And a guiding spirit for after days,
Like a watch-fire's light.
And a grief in his father's soul to rest,
Midst all high thought;
And a memory unto his mother's breast,
With healing fraught.
And a name and fame above the blight
Of earthly breath,
Beautiful beautiful and bright,
In life and death!
A song for the death-day of the brave
A song of pride!
For him that went to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom Lies
Freedom, theres more to your life so now[? ]
Old laws, man has made only blind.
Oh, give us freedom, a call to the brave and the strong,
To stand in the face of all wrong and show the way.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
Freedom to live out the dream in a song,
Give hope to the hearts of the young.
Oh, give us freedom to act out of love and not fear,
So all that is true will be clear.
Hear tomorrow, calling hold me, show me.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Liberty-Bell
With pomp attendant, and in garlands drest,
I journey from my sacred home once more;
Not this time to the new, triumphant West,
But to a land more dear to me of yore:
A land in memory sweet as the perfume
Of twining jasmine and magnolia bloom.
Though old and broken, for that memory's sake—
The memory of honored things gone by,
I will forget my length of years, and make
This pilgrimage unto her Southern sky,
So Georgia's children, too, my face may know,
And wreathe me proudly with their mistletoe.
Their fathers knew me, and in that great hour
When in the Hall of Freedom, since my home,
They signed the Charter, born of love and power,
That made them one, I, from the lofty dome
Above them, loudly rang the brave command,
Proclaiming Liberty throughout the land!
Men pass away, but I do not forget;
And though, alas, I have been silent long,
The echoes of my ringing vibrate yet,
From pole to pole, in every freeman's song;
And she who shared my May, in my December
Shall gaze upon my face, and will remember!
Georgia, to thee I come as to my own,
Undying laurels for thy heroes bringing,
Who sacrificed themselves to right alone,
Who signed for Liberty, and set me ringing.
The word they witnessed then, I bear to all,—
We stand, united; we, divided, fall!
O Georgia! land of Gwynnett, Walton, Hall!
Whose star was one of the sublime Thirteen,—
A pledge of hope and happiness to all,
A sign of victory, wherever seen,—
That vow the Fathers made, their sons fulfill,
The stars they joined shine on, united still!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Unsung Heroes
A song for the unsung heroes who rose in the country's need,
When the life of the land was threatened by the slaver's cruel greed,
For the men who came from the cornfield, who came from the plough and the flail,
Who rallied round when they heard the sound of the mighty man of the rail.
They laid them down in the valleys, they laid them down in the wood,
And the world looked on at the work they did, and whispered, 'It is good.'
They fought their way on the hillside, they fought their way in the glen,
And God looked down on their sinews brown, and said, 'I have made them men.'
They went to the blue lines gladly, and the blue lines took them in,
And the men who saw their muskets' fire thought not of their dusky skin.
The gray lines rose and melted beneath their scathing showers,
And they said, ''T is true, they have force to do, these old slave boys of ours.'
Ah, Wagner saw their glory, and Pillow knew their blood,
That poured on a nation's altar, a sacrificial flood.
Port Hudson heard their war-cry that smote its smoke-filled air,
And the old free fires of their savage sires again were kindled there.
They laid them down where the rivers the greening valleys gem.
And the song of the thund'rous cannon was their sole requiem,
And the great smoke wreath that mingled its hue with the dusky cloud,
Was the flag that furled o'er a saddened world, and the sheet that made their shroud.
Oh, Mighty God of the Battles Who held them in Thy hand,
Who gave them strength through the whole day's length, to fight for their native land,
They are lying dead on the hillsides, they are lying dead on the plain,
And we have not fire to smite the lyre and sing them one brief strain.
Give, Thou, some seer the power to sing them in their might,
The men who feared the master's whip, but did not fear the fight;
That he may tell of their virtues as minstrels did of old,
Till the pride of face and the hate of race grow obsolete and cold.
A song for the unsung heroes who stood the awful test,
When the humblest host that the land could boast went forth to meet the best;
A song for the unsung heroes who fell on the bloody sod,
Who fought their way from night to day and struggled up to God.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Power Of Thy Sword
Lord of battle I pray on bended knee conquest by the rising sun
I'll wait for thy command with flame and blood at hand
glory and a broken sword.
I'm the master of the world I have no fear of man or beast
Born inside the soul of the world
Riding hard breaking bone with steel and stone
Eternal might I was born to wield.
Let us drink to the battles we've lived and we've fought
Celebrate the pain and havoc we have wrought
Great heroes charge into the fight
From the north to the south in the black of night
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
Drink to the battles we've lived and we've fought
Celebrate the pain and havoc we have wrought
Great heroes charge into the fight
From the north to the south in the black of night
Fierce is my blade fierce is my hate born to die in battle
I laugh at my fate
Now pay in blood when your blood has been spilled
You're never forgiven death is fulfilled !
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
The clash of honor calls
I will stand when others fall
Open magic doors
The will know the power of my sword
There is blood in my hands there is blood in my eyes
With blood in my voice I scream as you die
Thirsting for vengeance and mounds of the slain
Shaking the forest onto the plain
Fierce is my blade fierce is my hate born to die in battle
I laugh at my fate
Now pay in blood when your blood has been spilled
You're never forgiven death is fulfilled !
The clash of honor calls to stand when others fall
Gods of war feel the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
Know the power of my sword
They will know the power of my sword
song performed by by Manowar from The Triumph Of Steel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Australia
Earth's mightiest isle. She stands alone.
The wide seas wash around Her throne,
Crowned by the red sun as his own.
This is the last of all the lands
Where Freedom’s fray-torn banner stands,
Not wrested yet from freemen’s hands.
The world’s gray page lies bare to-day—
The rise of nations—the decay.
Will She, too, rise—and fall as they?
She called men to Her, and they came,
Whose deaths have given the Desert name.
Their fame is written with Her fame.
We toil and strive. We have our hour.
But She shall grow from power to power,
To wear the splendour of her dower.
The trust is ours—to us alone.
We are the strong foundation-stone,
The seed from which the flower is grown.
And whilst a realm in fee we hold,
To guard the New against the Old,
Nor take the glitter for the gold,
What shall it profit Her if we
Make gold our God, and strength our plea,
And call wild license Liberty?
If, in our scorn of creed and king,
All reverence to the winds we fling,
And fall before a baser thing?
Though in Her coming hour of pride
Her millions throng the Desert wide,
Her cities stud the water side?
What though Her sword unconquered be,
Her armoured navies sweep the sea,
If still Her people are not free?
To be the wave of thought indeed
From New World vaunt and Old World need,
To manlier day and mightier deed?
To be a people proved and strong—
True freemen of the Poet’s song
For whom the world has waited long?
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Swiss Song, On The Anniversary Of An Ancient Battle
Look on the white Alps round!
If yet they gird a land
Where freedom's voice and step are found,
Forget ye not the band,
The faithful band, our sires, who fell
Here, in the narrow battle-dell!
If yet, the wilds among,
Our silent hearts may burn,
When the deep mountain-horn hath rung,
And home our steps may turn,
-Home!-home!-if still that name be dear,
Praise to the men who perish'd here!
Look on the white Alps round!
Up to their shining snows
That day the stormy rolling sound,
The sound of battle rose!
Their caves prolong'd the trumpet's blast,
Their dark pines trembled as it pass'd!
They saw the princely crest,
They saw the knightly spear,
The banner and the mail-clad breast
Borne down, and trampled here!
They saw-and glorying there they stand,
Eternal records to the land!
Praise to the mountain-born,
The brethren of the glen!
By them no steel-array was worn,
They stood as peasant-men!
They left the vineyard and the field
To break an empire's lance and shield!
Look on the white Alps round!
If yet, along their steeps,
Our children's fearless feet may bound,
Free as the chamois leaps:
Teach them in song to bless the band
Amidst whose mossy graves we stand!
If, by the wood-fire's blaze,
When winter-stars gleam cold,
The glorious tales of elder days
May proudly yet be told,
Forget not then the shepherd-race,
Who made the hearth a holy place!
Look on the white Alps round!
If yet the sabbath bell
Comes o'er them with a gladdening sound,
Think on the battle-dell!
For blood first bath'd its flowery sod,
That chainless hearts might worship God!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Brothers! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! An answer is now born and the song is sung! ! ! ! !
Where are you now? My little brother! !
The answer is born and the song is able to be sung now! ! !
In the darkness, a pregnancy is hidden and it is beaten and pressed by the forced power of savages though.
Now the black birdis able to be sung the song of freedom, all pregnant truths are born with the winds and wings! ! !
If you don't know the season, consult with flowers
if you don't know the truth, consult with realities in motion
if you don't know about poetry, consult with truths
Even Jean Baudrillard run out of simulacrum, the thetricality of life events
The blood, the bones and the fleshes of Khuk Daung'the fighting pescock is singing a song og freedom and humanity
in the land of sublime misery
The black bird is singing nthe song of freedom and democracy
THE ANSWER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
To Pennsylvania
O STATE prayer-founded! never hung
Such choice upon a people's tongue,
Such power to bless or ban,
As that which makes thy whisper Fate,
For which on thee the centuries wait,
And destinies of man!
Across thy Alleghanian chain,
With groanings from a land in pain,
The west-wind finds its way:
Wild-wailing from Missouri's flood
The crying of thy children's blood
Is in thy ears to-day!
And unto thee in Freedom's hour
Of sorest need God gives the power
To ruin or to save;
To wound or heal, to blight or bless
With fertile field or wilderness,
A free home or a grave!
Then let thy virtue match the crime,
Rise to a level with the time;
And, if a son of thine
Betray or tempt thee, Brutus-like
For Fatherland and Freedom strike
As Justice gives the sign.
Wake, sleeper, from thy dream of ease,
The great occasion's forelock seize;
And let the north-wind strong,
And golden leaves of autumn, be
Thy coronal of Victory
And thy triumphal song.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Gods eyes I will do no wrong
In Gods eyes I will do no wrong
You do not have the power to change me, you can never be that strong
You will never have the power to change me, in Gods eyes I will do no wrong
The pain you inflected, has not seeped into my soul, or dampened my spirit
The evil, and darkness, shown to me, so horrific, I wont forget it
Remember the voices you tried so hard to suppress
Their faces, not forgotten, in my memories they will rest
The meek will inherit the earth, and good will triumph over malevolent
I hold my head up high with the strength accompanying those which are innocent
To all those who have destroyed, the lives of people, villages, living under a foreign sky
I am not going to judge you, here is the reason why
You do not have the power to change me, you can never be that strong
You will never have the power to change me, in Gods eyes I will do no wrong
And god says judge not, lest you be judged!
Leandra Gebrakedan 2010 ©
poem by Leandra Gebrakedan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Coming Man
Oh, not for the great departed,
Who formed our country's laws,
And not for the bravest-hearted
Who died in freedom's cause,
And not for some living hero
To whom all bend the knee,
My muse would raise her song of praise-
But for the man to be.
For out of the strife which woman
Is passing through to-day,
A man that is more than human
Shall yet be born, I say.
A man in whose pure spirit
No dross of self will lurk;
A man who is strong to cope with wrong,
A man who is proud to work.
A man with hope undaunted,
A man with godlike power,
Shall come when he most is wanted,
Shall come at the needed hour.
He shall silence the din and clamor
Of clan disputing with clan,
And toil's long fight with purse-proud might
Shall triumph through this man.
I know he is coming, coming,
To help, to guide, to save.
Though I hear no martial drumming,
And see no flags that wave.
But the great soul travail of woman,
And the bold free thought unfurled,
Are heralds that say he is on the way-
The coming man of the world.
Mourn not for vanished ages
With their great heroic men,
Who dwell in history's pages
And live in the poet's pen.
For the grandest times are before us,
And the world is yet to see
The noblest worth of this old earth
In the men that are to be.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Show What a Man Can Do
There has been many a grander deed since man had life to give,
And thousands have gone to certain death, eyes open, that men might live;
And many have gone for their country’s sake, when their numbers were all too few,
And bravely died that their mates may die—to show what a man can do.
Now this is the song of La Bella wreck at the harbour of Warnambool,
And this is the song of a brave, brave man of the grand old simple school:
We all know the forces of circumstance, and we blame not the lifeboat crew—
But this is the song of a fisherman who showed what a man can do.
With a single scull in his strong young hands, and his brave young eyes aglow,
He shot his skill o’er the raging hell, where the lifeboat dared not go!
It was twice and thrice that he went again, and the lives they were only two—
But this is the song of The Man Who Knows, and can show what a man can do.
And we need such deeds in this world of ours, lest the hearts of men might fail—
Oh we need such deeds in this world of ours, and a man to tell the tale!
When the eloquent gestures come from the wreck, and never a word comes through—
Oh, we need such deeds in our land to-day to show what a man can do!
And this is the moral of all that is,
And it’s only known to two
Put out in your dinghy with confidence,
To show what a man can do.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh! Blame Not the Bard
Oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers
Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame;
He was born for much more, and in happier hours
His soul might have burn'd with a holier flame.
The string, that now languishes loose o'er the lyre,
Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's dart;
And the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire
Might have pour'd the full tide of a patriot's heart.
But alas for his country! -- her pride is gone by,
And that spirit is broken which never would bend;
O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh,
For 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend.
Unprized are her sons, till they've learn'd to betray;
Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not their sires;
And the torch, that would light them through dignity's way,
Must be caught from the pile where their country expires.
Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft dream
He should try to forget what he never can heal:
Oh! give but a hope -- let a vista but gleam
Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll feel!
That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down
Every passion it nursed, every bliss it adored;
While the myrtle, now idly entwined with his crown,
Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover his sword.
But though glory be gone, and though hope fade away,
Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs;
Not even in the hour when his heart is most gay
Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy wrongs.
The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains;
The sign of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep,
Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains,
Shall pause at the song of their captive, and weep!
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Raise your heart
Raise your heart
Proud as he sheded blood, he raised his heart
Legacy darken from the new generation but he played his part
Black power
Black power
The chant of generations the results of centuries
The Power of the human heart
The Power of compassion
The Power of empathy
Melatonins apart from mirroring gold and silver
Chant his courage; for his land have abandoned true valor
Forget not his image for as children of men, sacrifice builds our hearts.
poem by Bernardo Adantor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Right On
Ho! children of the brave,
Ho! freemen of the land,
That hurl'd into the grave
Oppression's bloody band;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
Let coward vassals sneak
From freedom's battle still,
Poltroons that dare not speak
But as their priests may will;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
On parchment, scroll and creed,
With human life blood red,
Untrembling at the deed,
Plant firm your manly tread;
The priest may howl, the jurist rave,
But we will free the fettered slave.
The tyrant's scorn is vain,
In vain the slanderer's breath,
We'll rush to break the chain,
E'en on the jaws of death;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
Right on, in freedom's name,
And in the strength of God,
Wipe out the damning stain,
And break the oppressor's rod;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Daniel SchjÖtz
(DIED OF OVER-EXERTION AS VOLUNTEER MILITARY-SURGEON, 1864)
He gave heed to no Great Power
But the one that God we call.
Hastening on to death's high hour,
He before asked not the Gaul,
Nor the Briton, nor the others,
If he too had leave to die
In the battle of his brothers
Underneath the Danish sky.
First to act with ardor youthful,
First a strong, clear faith to show,
First to swear in spirit truthful,
First o'er death's dark bridge to go.
Knowing not, in times so trying
None would come but he alone,
Thus he struggled, death defying,
For the sacred things we own.
He of thousands here remaining
Single would the name redeem,
Sank then with his zeal unwaning
Down beneath death's silent stream.
First of souls in hope believing,
Freedom's right 'gainst wrong to wield,
First warm drop, full-flowing, cleaving,
Of our blood on Denmark's shield.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
War-Music
Break off! Dance no more!
Danger is at the door.
Music is in arms.
To signal war's alarms.
Hark, a sudden trumpet calling
Over the hill!
Why are you calling, trumpet, calling?
What is your will?
Men, men, men !
Men who are ready to fight
For their country's life, and the right
Of a liberty-loving land to be
Free, free, free!
Free from a tyrant's chain,
Free from dishonor's stain,
Free to guard and maintain
All that her fathers fought for,
All that her sons have wrought for,
Resolute, brave, and free!
Call again, trumpet, call again,
Call up the men!
Do you hear the storm of cheers
Mingled with the women's tears
And the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet?
Do you hear the throbbing drum
As the hosts of battle come
Keeping time, time, time to its beat?
O Music give a song
To make their spirit strong
For the fury of the tempest they must meet.
The hoarse roar
Of the monster guns;
And the sharp bark
Of the lesser guns;
The whine of the shells,
The rifles' clatter
Where the bullets patter,
The rattle, rattle, rattle
Of the mitrailleuse in battle,
And the yells
Of the men who charge through hells
Where the poison gas descends,
And the bursting shrapnel rends
Limb from limb
In the dim
Chaos and clamor of the strife
Where no man thinks of his life
But only of fighting through,
Blindly fighting through, through!
'Tis done
At last!
The victory won,
The dissonance of warfare past!
O Music mourn the dead
Whose loyal blood was shed,
And sound the taps for every hero slain;
Then lead into the song
That made their spirit strong,
And tell the world they did not die in vain.
Thank God we can see, in the glory of morn,
The invincible flag that our fathers defended;
And our hearts can repeat what the heroes have sworn,
That war shall not end till the war-lust is ended.
Then the bloodthirsty sword shall no longer be lord
Of the nations oppressed by the conqueror's horde,
But the banners of freedom shall peacefully wave
O'er the world of the free and the lands of the brave.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
America Post 911
Land of freedom
Land of war
Land of peace
There you are
America!
Land of spirit truth and grace
Land that will never quit the race
May you fight until you're done
Because the battle has not yet been won
America!
Land of the beautiful
Land of the free
Bring the enemy to his knees
May his conscience sear his soul
Till the bell of victory tolls
America!
This is America land of the brave
Though you hurt us our banners continue to wave
High above the skies our spirits soar
As we replace future's door
America!
poem by Mitzie Thorne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Exile's Choice
Since justice slumbers in the abysm,
Since the crime's crowned with despotism,
Since all most upright souls are smitten,
Since proudest souls are bowed for shame,
Since on the walls in lines of flame
My country's dark dishonour's written;
O grand Republic of our sires,
Pantheon filled with sacred fires,
In the free azure golden dome,
Temple with shades immortal thronged!
Since thus thy glory they have wronged,
With 'Empire' staining Freedom's home;
Since in my country each soul born
Is base; since there are laughed to scorn
The true, the pure, the great, the brave,
The indignant eyes of history,
Honour, law, right, and liberty,
And those, alas! within the grave:
Solitude, exile ! I love them !
Sorrow, be thou my diadem !
Poverty love I, -- for 't is pride !
My rugged home winds beat upon;
And even that awful Statue wan
Aye seated silent by my side.
I love the woe that proves me strong;
That shadow of fate which all ye throng,
O ye to whom high hearts aye bow, --
Faith, Virtue veiled, stern Dignity,
And thou, proud Exile, Liberty,
And, nobler yet, Devotion, thou!
I love this islet lonely, bold, --
Jersey, whereover England's old
Free banner doth the storm-blast brave;
Yon darkling ocean's ebb and flow,
Its vessels, each a wandering plough,
Whose mystic furrow is the wave.
I love thy gull, with snowy wing
In pearls to the wind blithe scattering,
O ocean vast, thy sunny spray;
Who darts beneath hugh billows gaping,
Soon from those monstrous throats escaping
As a soul from sorrow flits away!
I love the rock, -- how solemn, stern !
Thence hearkening aye the plaint eterne
On the wild air around me shed,
Ever the sullen night outpours,
Of waves that sob on sombre shores,
Of mothers mourning children dead!
poem by Victor Hugo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Beautiful (yet) Deceiving World
It may be a green lovely field
But don't forget
How many blood that already spilled
And absorbed to the soil
Only to get the land
It may be a calming peaceful smile
But don't forget
How strong the burning hate
That raging inside
Only because loving too deeply
It may be a serene quiet atmosphere
But don't forget
How thin the air you breathe
Could swiftly tensed in a second
Only by a slight wrong impression
It may be a perfect white paper
But don't forget
How easy it could be dirtied by dust
And no one realizes
Only because it radiates the light
It may be a harmless boring life
But don't forget
How gifted every day you pass
In safe blissful oblivion
Only by someone protects it for you
It may be a sweet innocent soul
But don't forget
How observant that doe eyes
Follows and judges your careless action
Only because they are still young
It may be an easy effortless movement
But don't forget
How much pain and trouble it could be behind
That raking continuously unknown
Only to show it in front of you
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!