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A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,

WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC




SAVE A LITTLE PART

All the boys are running
But they donít know what to do.
They all have good ideas
But have no way to follow through.
So many different faces
But they still look all the same.
We only get what we deserve
And weíre the ones to blame.
All the politicians
Are reflections of ourselves,
With our dreams and aspirations
Getting dusty on the shelves.

We wait for that messiah
Who will come and save us all,
And still he doesnít surface
Though we call and call and call.
And some will look to women,
And some will look to men,
And some will look for Jesus Christ
Himself to rise again.
But if his message was to keep the faith,
Iím certain that he meant
Not to place it in a hero.
Idols came and idols went.

The first thing I remember is:
My father said to me
That I could be the best there is
At what I want to be.
I know that what I do
Is felt throughout the seven seas.
My faith has been unflagging
And my faith has been in me.
Iím able then to sacrifice
For what I know is right,
And to spend both time and money
On whateverís worth the fight.

I cannot save the world,
But I can save a little part.
It maybe isnít much,
But itís such a lovely start.

Saranac Lake, New York, 1975



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