One Hundredth Year Of Sorrow. Poem by Norman Jin Shyr Wang

He was the man in town to save and soothe
and cared for the poor with milk and meals.
On that temperate night of fullest moon
he was the first arrested by the Maoist's will.
His head was chopped and body was tossed
before his boy was next to kneel, to be killed.
He broke loose by leaving his golds unsealed
and was spotted alive in foul and filth.
He found new land in final freedom that's filled.
The boy grew and gave birth to seven children more
who gave rise to thirteen offspring a lot more.

I was the last child born of those seven children
as I now counselled many persecuted in horror.
No boil and toil would cease me to bear
of inner pains of mine and yours
whose families were slew and slaughtered
by the Red Regime, so far and so near.