Penn Wright
How lonely she sits
On the distant hills
Ravaged and torn
Bleeding and dying
Wailing and moaning
Hoping and waiting
Maybe help comes
From unseen quarters!
Her people gropes in darkness
Grasping at straws Caught in a stupor
Weighed down
Blinded by greed
Narrow parochial walls
Oblivious to the reaper's scythe
That is mowing the land.
Evil men, mercenaries
Rule the roost
They grow fat
And even tempt God:
But He is on the throne
Who removes and raises kings;
We shall surely see Goodness in the land!
