I will save my son from the world,
But thereafter I cannot guarantee
Its safety from him. He may make
Recompense for all deeds done
Against his, and spare no sound
In their defence. No persuasion
Made will be stepped over in
Haste of statement. There will be no
Stone worth turning to for protection
And no cove left vacant for those
Known to shelter in. Hounds will
Be let loose in our name to war
Upon the aimless, and the blameless
Will be freed to find their feet at
Last. The past will be celebrated and
The credit of the present will be paid
In full to further its advance and there
Will be no cowed man left to owe a
Debt. This will be the future our fathers
Failed to get, and its calendar will
Run in honour of their glory; its story
Will be told for bowed heads to hold
Themselves up against in hope. And
History will finally be reclaimed
For us: the untold busted, the lusted
After lowlifes, the dusted over tribes
Whose only crime was to be birthed
In lower clothes than those who have
Assumed this land as their apparel.
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