Spencer J. Quinn, American Renaissance, July 24, 2021
Forebear, forebear where is your sword
And cross-emblazoned shield?
The motley, godless, neutered horde
Compels your heirs to yield.
Our race today, unrecognized,
Abandons our renown;
Our lands and holdings colonized
By tan and black and brown.
Contrition sways, we’ve shed our will,
Embarrassed by our might
As interlopers have their thrill
Of conquering despite.
Alone are we subjected to
This truthless blight of mind
Which desecrates the rendezvous
Of European kind.
We bent the knee to God, forebear,
and country, king, and queen.
Today we bend our gender pair
Into a thing obscene.
Our worthy line we now forsake;
Our doubled genes recoil.
Misshapen minds their image make
In children they embroil.
Our sons cringe into daughters now,
Their weakness all agleam.
The scalpel, shot, and drug somehow
Embolden their esteem.
The cradle that our daughters spurn
Lies filled with hopes unfound
Or tawny whelps when strangers yearn
To run our race aground.
Forebear, forebear, should this go further?
My innocence I fear
Negotiates transcendent murther,
And too may disappear.
Awash am I in desperate brood,
Please speak to me, forebear.
How can our lives but soon conclude
Should I forbear, forbear?