When April has passed its contents remain.
Though there is a drought golden poppies bloomed
Magnificent clouds gather foment rain
Distant as relief arrives in a storm
Necessary for the sweetness of spring
Though it has ended and May strikes its key
The first is for the People, hard-working,
Who toil as will their inheritors.
And as there is no justice for workers
There is none for the grandchildren either.
Then what does a yearning ported of fear?
Why wait while Misery never tires?
Why hold back our grievances, why conspire
Against our interests Misery tires.
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