Månadens dikt, Oktober.

Då var det återigen dags för det populära inslaget Månadens dikt. Roligt att ni tyckte om påhittet.
Månadens dikt är inte bara en dikt utan också ett testamente, skrivet av Joe Hill, natten innan han arkebuserades 19e November 1915.

My will is easy to decide,

For there is nothing to divide.

My kin don't need to fuss and moan,

"Moss does not cling to a rolling stone."

My body? Oh, if I could choose

I would to ashes it reduce,

And let the merry breezes blow,

My dust to where some flowers grow.

Perhaps some fading flower then

Would come to life and bloom again.

This is my Last and final Will.

Good Luck to All of you,

                                                             

                                                            Joe Hill

På köpet kommer också en dikt om Joe Hill, skriven av Alfred Hayes och tonsatt och sjungen av bland annat Peter Seegers, Joan Boeaz och Paul Robsson.

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night 
Alive as you or me 
Says I, But Joe, you're ten years dead 
I never died, says he 
I never died, says he 

In Salt Lake, Joe, says I to him 
Him satnding by my bed 
They framed you on a murder charge 
Says Joe, But I ain't dead 
Says Joe, But I ain't dead 

The copper bosses killed you, Joe 
They shot you, Joe, says I 
Takes more than guns to kill a man 
Says Joe, I didn't die 
Says Joe, I didn't die 

And standing there as big as life 
And smiling with his eyes 
Joe says, What they forgot to kill 
Went on to organize 
Went on to organize 

Joe Hill ain't dead, he says to me 
Joe Hill ain't never died 
Where working men are out on strike 
Joe Hill is at their side 
Joe Hill is at their side 

From San Diego up to Maine 
In every mine and mill 
Where workers strike and organize 
Says he, You'll find Joe Hill 
Says he, You'll find Joe Hill 

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night 
Alive as you or me 
Says I, But Joe, you're ten years dead 
I never died, says he 
I never died, says he 

Alfred Hayes