Abigail Assor

You hate the gifts we make you swill

and the allegiance we feed you.

Our loving bearing, you defile

as we are calling you.


The uncouth outline of our roads,

you yearn to ban.

You feel we can’t fathom the speed of

your boulevard.


Brother, I know you bid furlough

from this kingship that’s itching you.

Now the green shades of your body

match the harbour you chose.


Though in a blissful land of yours,

will blossom your flag, 

though my mourn’s shameful, truth is

I beg you not to leave.