They call it B-more
Where my sister lives
It’s a place of Good Hope that it seems
Like the rest but it isn’t
It;’s the hood of the Wire and the song called the loss of habit
Since it is not a long farewell to thee that I preach
It is a slong and unparallel for it is in the root
Of all evil that I sing for the chance to say
That today I need to hope for more than a risk
I need to hope for a way forward to the end
So that I can say that I have worked for a living in my time
When that does and it shall or shall not
I shall see that I know what it is like to frown upon the aged and the disparate
Without measure for the will to turn is not the end
It is the begin and then shall it be so.
Snow. Yes that is Jon Snow. I shall preach that you are a tyran-t for the Snow of my dream
Would not be able to see that it is the end of the time for thee as you watch form athither and yet
Forget who you voted for in the last election.
You and your “American Dream” book.
It’s a disgrace that you see not how enfoldle you are. Enfoldle, Yes
It means that you are enfolded in the lust for power of the press without ever being in it.
A editor nog. Sal ek vir jou ontskuur wat onfou beteken ook? Nee!
Nee! Nee! Nee! Ek’s blicksem aan and dis far from the trut’.
Beskeen maar and vote, jy vok, vir Labour this tome and don’t joke.
People die for people like you to make you new and ou career en dis a vout van jaar and van jou, Versmaak.
Copyright B E Saunders 2016