The dead speak but we as a
people have forgotten how to
listen. We hold them in our
hands, they course thru our blood
they are found in the leaves of
the Koran, the psalms, the Torah,
the Constitution, the New
Testament. all revelations, all
poetry all the sacred books.
They send words of love and woe.
And we entwine their labors with
our own and form our own body of
ideas, of hope. Labor day
approaches. Let us now salute
our neighbor. His trials both
honorable and pathetic are our own.
So we can laugh and also weep. The
sheriff is dead long live the sheriff.