Summon not the wind to thy voices Nor the cold weather to thy croaks But in thy own, blossom Huts we calmly sit under as Som. Until reverend peace accepts us in her bosom Understanding, love, and unity among her concomitants we comb We shall uphold our own beautiful days And read our claims To the high orders and older generations To watch and as trails Good morals Good morals and boost morale’s For this now thumps To cause our homes clumps Continue reading NO GUNS THUMPED