Read more from the Being Truly Human August 1993 Newsletter
By Michael Piggott
Sometimes the few Sometimes the many For long have they come To the Singer of Songs
Long did he succour them No carrot, no stick For in freedom he spoke And gentle his words
Straight were those thoughts Scattered as seeds That reached to the heart According to need
And as the light fades As it always must Are our lamps lit bright For the coming of night
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