Labour Day
On the bright parkway comes the throbbing drums
The sound of the pan and sound of the horn
The great crowd alive like a beehive hums
And children gloating like goats in the corn
Float after float like birds of paradise
Skin and colours blending in mirth's devise
The aroma of a thousand pots swells
And weave again the tropic's magic spells.
They do not know, they do not know how strange
The revelry upon the grave where change
Was bought with lives of men forever dead,
They hung them who sought to eat cheaper bread.
O that I was there now, massing, winding
Where parade and hearse like time is moving.
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