Poem By GREENWOLFE 1962
I sleep and dream about the superficial
and personal, thus pleasing drivel
as you must know, one cannot pay attention
and be worried so unduly and with care
inside the soul where all the world is now in view
Its' an omnipotent that God should have appointed.
At present it's Zimbabwe, country of the blacks
where genocide has taken hold and stayed.
What else is new they say, it's just a habit
that keeps recurring and there is no need to worry.
I only dream about the one thing that keeps waking
and shaking me, when soggy with the sweats
of white knight nights recurs in colour, three dimensions,
when a Jack Russell sat beside his murdered master
so full of grief and mortal wounding to his heart.
How can we stand and look due East where things are quiet
and if you can, I know that dog will not,
when hostile bullets struck his master and he died
it killed his spirit and his heart and loyal soul.