For many years, marauding bands
came to the border of our land,
but could not pass the place called Avengel.
One day the bands broke through the wall
with spurs and whips and cursing calls
they won the day, and ended our Self-Rule.
The strong were sent to fill their jails.
The weak were poisoned at their wells.
But death was not the final scourge;
A final desecration lay in store.
Survivors were renamed, "The Poor,"
and asked to show the victors gratitude.
For this, we rose up from our cells
and towns and cities we rebelled!
To thank "The Rich" is more than we can do!
Dan's 2-Cents: Aren't we all Poor? Aren't we all inwardly the same, with threats of Outside Invasion heaped upon us to divide our strength and weaken our resolve? This poem is a call for Self-Rule. Only with the restoration of Self-Rule will we have Sufficient Funding.
