Is Not You
Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2011 9:57 pm
Take my hand. We shall walk
Along these fields of wheat so ripe
Far from the men in cloaks of hate
By the veil of clouds concealed
To the places we are young
In the shadows of red and white
By the Black Sea at sunset
We shall dream of olive trees
In their shade we are young again
In their arms I yield to you
Pure as any child can be
Crying for the blood-soaked earth
My tears afraid for all the world
That toils and burns and is not you.
Along these fields of wheat so ripe
Far from the men in cloaks of hate
By the veil of clouds concealed
To the places we are young
In the shadows of red and white
By the Black Sea at sunset
We shall dream of olive trees
In their shade we are young again
In their arms I yield to you
Pure as any child can be
Crying for the blood-soaked earth
My tears afraid for all the world
That toils and burns and is not you.