The 1960's saw an upheaval in civil rights. Young Americans demanded more of our society.

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Step right up, this bus is bound for glory.

Sleep where we can, on the road, on the bus,

No room in the inns for the likes of us.

Mountains of struggle, new visions to build.

Shuffle on up to the take-out window,

Drinks come extra, take a seat on the curb.

Expect sugar in your curl, spittle sprays

On the cheek. Heavy sittin’ just ahead..

Register to vote? Say that one in Greek.

Instruction for the gifted kissed lightly

By the sun. Higher ed for us? Can you

Run? Kids learn early: Mow your lawn? I sweep.

We’ll sing long and loud, overcome some jeers.

No stick’s gonna stop us, no hose’ll take

Us out. Facin’ down angry pearly whites.

Can’t hurt much more than I already know..

In the yard at the spigot wash your hands.

Find paper napkins, plastic forks, plus plates.

Take a Mason jar, wait your turn. hunker

Down, bow you head, remember those ahead.

The sun’s sweaty hot, the rain’s turning cold.

Been there, strapped up and roped like a mule.

Grab your poke, climb aboard, time’s awastin’,

Destiny bides beyond the great divide.

Bondage awaits the naked on the block.

An oak limb bending, hearts rendered in the

Swamp. Lost souls in that river buried deep.

Humiliation’s just a tear gone numb.

Takin’ Sunday off, worship time and rest.

Sittin’ on concrete where fine pews once stood.

Raisin’ voices, raisin’ walls come Monday.

Dustin’ off ashes, now bound to forgive.

Give us time, they shout. Time’s awastin’, we

Retort. Let us meet and bridge this chasm.

Sirens, snarls, and billies. Mad shoves abound.

In peril on this span, we stand our ground.

Step up, grab a seat, hold fast to the cause.

No stops for stragglers, the shy uncertain.

No concessions, no bargains, no truces.

God help us, this bus is bound for glory.

By Fred Miller

From: United States

Website: https://pookah1943.wordpress.com