A quiet word

A Quiet Word

Poetry ought to be of beauty love and summers,
I listen under my lemon it bears such a yellow
fruit, but I hear nothing but cannons thunder and
voices that speaks of revenge, and the voices of
those who demand a home-land their own;
I do understand, but do they have to kill their
neighbour to achieve their goal? To my distress
I must admit that without fighting for your right,
defending your home, no one will give it to you
freely. So Palestinians, sullen Greenlanders and
other homeless people, diplomacy will get you
nowhere. I need not, tell you what to do, but
remember what the use of violence is for freedom
and not for suppression of the truth.