The Battle Cry Dance – Lind Grant

Tell me your name; I mean that which you are

Called, out in a crowd of near nothingness.

 

Do not bury your words protesting,

In the simmering end of summer bon fires

 

Or the fire from merciless iron rations.

Speak to me one more time, in a speech unspoken,

as the unaltered dreams of a child lost

in the small of their mother’s clever arms.

Tell me your name that I may plant in spring time,

the remnants of tender hope untended.

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