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Hope is a starving hunger seeking to be fed;
Faith awaits the reality of visions of the dead.
Lost dreams still remain asunder;
although we’ve seen the light and heard the thunder.
Give me your minds children---that they be mine---
Shaping and molding buds of hope in the
furrows of time.
Come you new fruits that will bear new seeds
that’ll sprout and meet our lingering needs.
You are those of whom the ancestors spoke;
You are those who will destroy today’s auction block;
You are those who will shatter the present yoke.
You will be the new shepherds of the wandering flock:
You are the ones chosen to take us over the mountaintop.
