the times will be always a-changin'

the times will be always a-changin'


the masters of war are still raging around
and too many people see never a glint
of hope in the skies, blown away in the wind
are fragile dreams that will never be found

oh damn! you were right, we'll be drenched to the bone,
still many are those who pretend not to see,
the question becomes not 'to have', but 'to be',
and soon might be lost what has never been known...

no matter how deep many scars are, it seems
that people, like flowers, will always have dreams
of flourishing freely, in piece be arranging

a home and the gifts that the day may be bringin'...
they listen to you now, the bard who is singin'
of hope that the times will be always a-changin'...



PS: zur Feier des Tages, Bob Dylan gewinnt den Nobelpreis der Literatur

Indeed, I thought "Dylan" when starting to read. I got rhythm.

Bob Dylan waited long, so it may not be strange that I appreciate your poem half a year later.

never too late !


thanx
Tula