the drip of soul
from cradle to grave
unheard
unexpressed
voice of the slave
mother weeps for her unkept soul
she holds out her hand for us to remember
children of yesterday rise out
from the ashes of greed
burning wounds
heavy hearts
the gentle ones look on
soothe souls with love
heal wounds with patience
unite us in fellowship
so once more our sweet nature
can bloom
within the embrace of our mother
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