The Village
In the village where I usually stroll along and live
An ominous plot against me is put into high contrive
These villagers do not like whoever is not rich as their glamour
They hold deep rancor to whoever does not march and sing their hummer
I would not let you for long guess or think
What would happen if into their hand a silk noose will sink
Upon my fragile neck they will happily let it fall
As they push and tight me against an ancient stone wall
Once when my leg by the river was broken
No one stopped by to offer any help or even a token
Beneath an old oak by the village side
I sat in long weeping, in the whole village wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept
And so for hours under summer heat I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Dry and cold as my immense fears
The other time when walking down village streets
A guy pass me by and kicked my butt as a treat
He laughed and encouraged his fellow to follow the same drag
But the other wished he could, since he was missing a leg
Those people of village friendly and kind
Those who will not put an obstacle out of a mockery sooth
In front of my legs since practically in truth
They are themselves disabled blind
And those who will not mock
Me are simply dumb, they use their look
And around they go to hide behind a rock
With some friends who are deaf and cannot rebuke
Oh gentle folks of hostess village who owe a grudge
To my calm and unintegrated distant existence
Stay on your own hellish folish trudge
In spite of my unprovoking persistence
Copy rights 2010
All rights resereved
poem by Isaac Ziv
Added by Poetry Lover
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