I see how fast new passions
finally become old-fashioned
what was once avant-garde
has slipped onto its derriere
songs of peace or protest
are now sung to sell soup
songs of a coming revolution
rehashed on PBS fund drives
change at glacier speed,
“We shall overcome,”
has been self-embalmed
I’ll make my own peace
go at my own pace
write my own song
in my own words
that’s all that’s left.