The Plight Poem by Daniel Richards

How many roads must I
Walk down,
Before its seen that I’m a man

How many labors must I
Take now,
Before I see that I’m a man

I guess the answers,
True to me, my friend,
Are just whispers blowin’ coldly on the wind

How many times can this man
Hang his head, ignoring the plight
Laid upon his land

How many seas must I
Set sail, until
Purity is revealed from its veil

I guess the answers,
True to me, my friend,
Are just whispers blowin coldly on the wind

I guess the reasons,
For me, my friend,
Are just fired candles blowin empty in the wind