There is a dream in the land
With its back against the wall
By muddled names and strange
Sometimes the dream is called.
There are those who claim
This dream for theirs alone--
A sin for which we know
They must atone.
Unless shared in common
Like sunlight and like air,
The dream will die for lack
Of substance anywhere.
The dream knows no frontier or tongue,
The dream, no class or race.
The dream cannot be kept secure
In any one locked place.
This dream today embattled,
With its back against the wall--
To save the dream for one
It must be saved for all.
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Appropriately, a poem from a man and world traveler, who once called Cleveland, home. His biography is entitled, Big Sea, and I recommend it to every student assigned to read a biography.
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