On My Way Home

I saw Frederick Douglass today on the bus.
I wanted to go up and ask him his views about us.
Mr. Douglass, what's your opinion, of the children cussing in the back?
And of the 15 year old girl, with the three-baby brat pack?
What would you say to this young thug, who refuses to give up his seat,
And let this lady sit down, who suffers from swollen, diabetic feet?
Mr. Douglass, what do you think of the music we sing?
Our having "I'm In Love With a Stripper" for a cell phone ring?
Dear Sir, how can you just sit there, oblivious to what's going on?
Help us, we need you, tell us where we went wrong!
There are no more like you, we have lost all our heroes.
No more role models, activists, old and wise souls.
Instead we have half naked women, king pins, and pimps.
Pre-teen drug dealers walking with that "I'm a thug" limp.
I wanted to say, "Sir, your insight I demand.
In your eyes, where do we stand?"

Before I know it, we reach your destination.
We're on the corner of Lost and Frustration.
You get up slowly, and walk toward the door,
I half expect to see your eyes to the floor.
But your head is held high as you look at the few,
Who see who you are, and give the respect that is due.

With a smile he says, "We will reclaim our land."
Then a few more words, his bus card in hand.
"Be strong, continue to set good examples." he stressed.
"If there is no struggle, there is no progress."