Under the Hupa of the blue sky,
we are all egual;
The loved, the loathed,
the hopeful, the hopeless,
the wealthy and those who long endlessly.
Those who are wronged
and those who are wrong
Those who play, frivoulsy,
under arches of white marble
And those who sway upon frayed rope over
elements of rubble
Yes, under the blowing linen of the white sky
we are all equal
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem