A Complaint
Ah! I do know the winds shall blow,
And the same old Titanic will me row,
To the distant promised harbour,
Where were placed my dear parents,
And grandparents long, long ago.
I shall complain and tell them the tale,
“On the Earth, on each dale and vale,
Thunder thunders flaming the lands,
Ravaging the green or purple peaks,
Each tree you planted is dry or pale.”
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