Birth RightsA Poem by Tate MorganA look at our certain future!
Granddaughter Payton Wheat fields wave across the meadow bright yellow 'neath a sky of blue Beautiful swaths of sun bleached straw cut down long before their due So like the children of our city colored yellow, red, brown and gold Living out their lives in dog years struck down long before they're old This sickness flows through our land leaving the helpless and despaired Where all are made to be thrown out none are saved or even repaired When the silent spring finally comes and all the birds are in a museum We'll sell our birthright for a song so children can pay to see them Then all the beauty will be gone as our grandchildren run out to play Not under blue or 'cross the green but in the trash from yesterday Written August 13, 2009 All rights reserved
© 2023 Tate MorganAuthor's Note
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Added on July 22, 2014Last Updated on November 24, 2023 AuthorTate MorganMarion , OHAboutAvailable from Amazon XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I am a product of the Midwest. Raised on the plain states of North America. I was nurtured on a .. more.. |



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