Where is our voice whenever we're not heard?
As we contemplate on our own musings,
In reckless doom, we are like the herd,
Muted, for our shattered dreams, choking;
But you, who've come so far, you pour
Your token of hope on our empty cups,
Not too late but soon, you did not scorn,
Your kindness, more than enough,
To awaken us to new mornings,
When as the night before, we were forlorn,
Today, we toast to fresh good tidings,
Our laughter must find us, just as giving
As your message of hope, singing.
Merci .
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