I taught myself
To live on the drippings of time
Caught in this bowl of lawn
That summer breakfast room
always existed, in one form or another
Oppression is even older than I am
coiling in the valleys below
the fields wet with hope and nerves.
And here I touched the labourer
His clothes red and sticky with soil
Stay he says. I promise you nothing.
Have you ever seen a day without sun.
I have it, in song tied up in a sack.
And I’ll let everyone see it if you stay.
Outside the Court
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