As I write
I see encyclopaedias
And new words
In the sunflowers
Climbing up to my window.
There are too, millions
Of other worlds
Shining in salt-crusted sand
Glistening in the faint distance
And new poems breaking out
In the first of the wild roses
In my garden
That put the untameable weeds to shame.
I cannot understand men
Who damn this beautiful place
With wars and commit thousands of men
Woman an children to lives of abject terror
Pain and poverty
And politicians that feed us shit for breakfast
Amidst all the sweat and pain
The bruised and the broken, the ill-used children
And the homeless who go unnoticed
By the fat pockets of the filthy rich. and
The blown-up, false egos of those who believe
Themselves 'celebrities' who, sadly. have
Never considered 'the lilies in the fields....'
Or the sunflowers, or the wild roses.
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