The Mexican

What do we do with Mexicans?
Nothing much, we put them in pens.
We ship them out, or do we ship them back?
Now that I think of it, a ship we lack!
But somehow, or another, they come, and they go.
But without them, we know, there'd be no flow.
A vibrant song goes forth from their lips,
It brings out the groove, the swing of the hips,
The women, or ladies, become all afire,
They satiate, in men, the love of desire.
Their hands make anew, what was thought to be old,
They make a party lively, when it seems most cold.
Their heart is in it, because you only live one life,
Yet they flee from their home, all full of strife.
For their sake, for their home, I pray to God,
To him I cry, and to Christ I do Laud,
For the sake of my friend, who has taught me to smile,
Whenever I see the sight of his profile.
For the sake of my friend, the passion he brought,
To the sound of a guitar, of which you ought
To play with life, with soul, with a beat!
For the sake of my friend, who accomplished this feat.
What little I know of him is his heart,
His homeland means much to him, that's a start.
More will come in time, when time has passed;
When more and more hearts are then amassed
For the cause of peace, love, fidelity,
Of hope in God, and the blessed maternity.
I speak these words to my friend, in time;
Hoping he understand the meaning of my rhyme.
May his hands be evermore limber, and fit,
Capable to swing a hammer, or use a pick,
May a song be always in his heart, his wit
Be full of good cheer, and his phrases slick,
Not for simple profit, nor for pleasing gain,
But that God's name be praised, for this refrain.
And through his profit, may his country be,
Through God safeguarded, eternally.

                    The Mexican, (c) Luke Bennette, August 2012