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Harmony Peter Poem
one by one, drop by drop they
fall.
squinting faces,the civil sevant they
call.
"worker of the nation",the toiler
backstage.
sweat no more,now blood runs down the
faces,
a corrupt nation,like wrongly tied shoe
laces;
citizens search for light,like digging through cemented ground in search of
water,
surely there are
cries,
cries in the sweat of the civil
sevant,
cries of unseen
hope
also of sweet pain...a pain which never
ends.
Copyright © Harmony Peter | Year Posted 2005
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