The Stranger within my gate.
He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk -
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.
The men of my own stock
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
They are used to the lies I tell.
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy and sell.
The Stranger within my gates,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control -
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
Shall repossess his blood.
The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me.
This was my father's belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf -
And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
by bitter bread and wine.
Right now the situation is what it is. We must just get on with the basic hard work and not despair. I do not want to hear any moaning minnies with the old "It is too late to do anything" routine. I have heard it so many times from the 'diesofts' and utterly pathetic who will attach themselves and then get in our way.
"We have seen them come and seen them go..." Colin Todd.
Stay with Candour or join with us and subscribe now if you do not already do so. Subscription rates and book prices MUST all be increased at the start of 2023. We are already undercutting ourselves to keep Candour growing. If you can please donate.
Today is the:
100th Anniversary of the Fascisti March on Rome.
Honour the Past. Conquer the Future!