Poetry

The Long March

One, two, one two.

 

Line by line,

side by side,

up the steep mountain path

following the piper’s march.

 

One, two, one, two.

 

Rock and stone,

wind and rain.

Soon we’ll reach the river,

He doesn’t care if we shiver.

 

One, two, one, two.

 

Unable to stop.

Unable to think.

Unable to breathe.

 

One, two, one, two.

 

All because the villagers;

our family, our kin;

refused to pay the price

that was owed

to him.

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