Revolution 6

The infant racers take their Marx
And run up the hill through the snowing sparks,
Feet and minds and Hair alight
For the benefit of Mr. Kite.

The good fight dead and Mao in flames,
The children learn to write their names,
And soon in ink on fragile leafs
They declare their olive wreaths.

Belles on arm and bells that ring,
The youths crown themselves as King,
Drives strong to climb up high
Before one can take off and fly.

Blue-eyed child with open mind
Searching for the dreams of her kind,
Picks up the utopian flame,
Forgone by her father's name.

Seashell eyes and windy smile
Died near the end of the extra mile,
While watching the arm-chaired Ego spill his lore
Into the ears of the youths on the shore.

The End

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