MY SONG

I want to pour my heart into a flood of song:

The song of the individual struggling

In the midst of over-powering oppression;

The song of slave and master;

The song of man and mate;

Boy and girl;

Mother and child.

The song that has for centuries been sung

And yet remains unsung.

The triumphant march of victory;

Of Good over Evil;

Love over Selfishness;

Honesty and Cleanliness of mind and body

Over Corruption, Depravity and Soullessness.

The slow pavane in regal solemnity,

Portraying the grief of a man

For his own atrocities,

And those perpetrated by his brothers everywhere,

Whether in mistaken philanthropy

Or openly degenerate vindictiveness.

Such is my song.

London, 1946