I’d like to take time and space to think,
Of the things we love to regard as fair,
Of the thin pale skin that blushes pink,
The cold color blue your proud eyes may wear.
You whose face that marks gold and silver coins,
Whose pale and callous hands rinse red with war,
Hatred sprang then and now from fertile loins,
Beckoning to us now as done before.
The brilliant whiteness of face and teeth
Reflecting golden sunlight all too well,
Harshly turned down to those lying beneath
Becomes for us bright, rich, glorious hell.
Keeping close and dear your father’s fair laws,
Keeping copper and brown skin in your jaws.
Copyright A.Davis
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