Immigrant's FatherA Poem by John Stussyidk where it came from, but here. i've written again. finally.
Walk this path with me my son We’ll go until it’s early dawn, Tilt yer beer to your lips And drink it down as I talk to ye. The freedoms of this wretched land Ain’t the ones of home I grant, But stay awhile, We’ll pull through these rough times. Your mother’s heart will break If you get aboard that boat, Ye chance a rougher life If you go back to our home. War’s on the rise in And famine’s killing everyone, You’ve better chances here With I and your mother dear. Please endure with us my son. © 2008 John StussyReviews
|
Stats
212 Views
7 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on October 1, 2008AuthorJohn StussyAZAboutCook, writer, reader, musician. I don't bte, unless asked to or bitten first. My site's link is to some recordings of my poetry, and I might add some recordings of me playing my sax onto there too... more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|