A rhyming poem about how too many sons for far too long have drunk from this well.
|A father brings to the well his young son.
A sign on the well: ‘Drink not, for it taints
the mind.’ The son takes a drink; it’s begun.
“It tastes awful.” / His father: “No complaints!
“Our family have all drunk from this well
for generations. Soon you’ll like the taste.”
The boy does drink often, his thirst to quell.
With racial hatred his mind becomes laced.
Another father in their line has now
gotten his son this polluted water
to savor. He’s quite satisfied with how
his son’s racism grew deeper and broader.
Will this chain of older generations
passing their racial hatred to the next
never end? Improved hopes for the nation’s
future starts when this well each son rejects.
I invite you to please check out my ten books: