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
