Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by bigger government;
And all the clouds that unrestricted freedom threatened
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Our sacred birth rights cast upon our scrap heaps;
Our unbridled growth curtailed by Marxist meetings,
Our dreadful self-sufficiency reigned by communal measures.
Grim-visaged independence hath smooth’d his wrinkled brow;
And now
– instead of freedom of contract
To sprout hope in the souls of sons of pioneers
–
He capers nimbly in a political stew
To the lascivious pleasing of a commie.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by bigger government;
And all the clouds that unrestricted freedom threatened
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Our sacred birth rights cast upon our scrap heaps;
Our unbridled growth curtailed by Marxist meetings,
Our dreadful self-sufficiency reigned by communal measures.
Grim-visaged independence hath smooth’d his wrinkled brow;
And now – instead of freedom of contract
To sprout hope in the souls of sons of pioneers –
He capers nimbly in a political stew
To the lascivious pleasing of a commie.
But I, that am not shaped for urban life,
Nor made to court a hypocrite politician;
I, that am rudely stamped, and feel my grandparents’ fervent dreams
To work and sweat, and bleed on a small piece of Earth
to have, Oh! Seattle, for a brief instant of time;
I have a dream, which cannot be robbed
in a county I call Cienega.
Joe Thompson,
Tres Pinos
