|Twenty-eight commands a following
With passion, wit, intelligence, and style.
Even as he uses modern means,
Needing the technology awhile,
The past remains the future of his dreams,
Yielding days that dance and nights that sing.
Earth lies wounded, wincing, shuddering,
Injured every moment we defile
Gifts that once poured forth like spring-fed streams,
Heart beneath a breast once nurturing
Tumultuously pumping filth and bile.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon