Sime people
bo matter what
you give them,
still want the moon.
The bread,
the salt,
white meat and dark,
still hungry.
The marriage bed
and the cradle,
still empty arms.
You give them
land, their own
earth under their
feet, still they
take to the roads.
And water dig
them the deepest
well, still it's not
deep enough
yo drink the moon
from
