Che

When great men die poets weep Though all heroes die the same Some losses cut yet deeper deep For some carry a brighter flame. That is you Che Guevarra, you Are dead, but cannot die here, The void yawns lovingly for you The soldier is the one who care. Fidel said, the great artist can die But the art has an immortal will That man has good discerning eye His heart is a dream's great mill. You are both artist and art, portrait Of the people, and painter of want Your action tells the depth of faith, Your love brings fruit upon the plant. Che, we miss your spontaniety's fire We miss your mind growing a desert With corn, your bravery and desire For freedom where the masses hurt. No man gives so fully self, or again For the peasants care; you were all The canvas from the mind could drain, Our living legend in mural and wall.