Photo Courtesy First Baptist of Orlando

The Earth, she grumble,
the Earth, she groan,
the houses, they tumble,
and Haiti sings on.

Oh Christopher Columbus,
why did you come,
to my island paradise,
to the beat of a drum?

Oh King of France,
why did you dance,
on my color and culture,
for sweet rum sugar,
and new cotton pants?

For that we put France down.
But the world goes round and round,
and Papa Doc took the high ground,
beating us bloody to the sound,
of drum beats as Haiti sang on.

And so we put Papa down.
Behind the smile our faces frown.
There was no joy in Port-au-Prince town,
but Haiti still sang on.

In the late summer,
the hurricane come,
rip at our houses,
and always drown some.

And now our houses kill everyone.
Regardless of station, every mother's son.
But with the cry of pain in every street,
the singing of Haiti never retreat.

We thirst for water and hunger for food.
We cry for shelter and relief that is good.
Our cries fall unheard like tapping on wood.
Haiti sings for redemption that is unheard.

The world pours in, but it is too late,
too little is coming, and the grief is too great.
There is no saving those already crushed,
those buried alive not given grief’s trust.

After the pain of injury is healed,
after the death is swept away or sealed,
the tragedy of starvation,
and disease revealed,
still, Haiti will sing on.

Will Haiti ever be strong?
Is Haiti's tragic history just too long?
Surely, with the strength of its people,
and its song, Haiti will live on.

Copyright 2010 © Ronald W. Hull

1/23/10

Photo Courtesy First Baptist of Orlando