This is the poem I wrote years ago. You have to go back to Nixon days, history will repeat.
The question arises, my friend, as to who is playing this game
Being stripped of our resources isn’t bringing us fame
They claim our fuel is gone but no need to panic
Others say it’s everywhere
From the West coast to the Atlantic. We have lived through reels of film, seeing our President shot
Watch the tornado hit Xenia, when the weather got hot
We’re hanging in there, paying the price with little regret
Because it never concerned our schools, our jobs … not much … not yet
Yesterday our children only knew that daffodils grew
Education was a field of clovers where dreams came true
Now, the question is my friend
In the land of the free?
When they throw the yellow flag on this play?
Who pays the penalty?
