Sons Of Men Poem by George Samuel

Men passed away in blemish
Women through travail replenish
The land again multiplies
Vanquish souls heaven replies
Both the sun and a host join the fate
Their season dwindles before a common gate
They trace their crown and hide their face
Those with the silver spoon keep the race
Use their pace some claim the blame
While the ordinary men play the game
And wish for a land flowing with milk and honey
But stumble at Edens agony
Where the first famous rising sun was lost
Men will always feel it the most
They are servants of the sun sons of men