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Where have you gone, my Bobby, my boy,
Oh where, oh where are you bound?
The masters of greed have their hands on you;
You're nowhere to be found.
Your body is here, my Bobby, my boy,
I see it every day;
But your soul has gone into slavery
And cannot get away.
They have you there, my Bobby, my boy,
And keep you for their gold;
Just as in days of slavery,
Your life has been bought and sold.
The masters of greed, my Bobby, my boy,
Have neither love nor pity;
They run your block, your neighborhood,
They run every town and city.
They'll sell you things, my Bobby, my boy,
You cannot do without;
And when you've paid all you can steal
They'll laugh and spit you out.
And those who love you, Bobby, my boy,
And those whom you love, and I,
What can we do, my dearest boy,
But weep and watch you die?
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
