My heart cries for my people, From Birmingham to Bama, Fallen is the church steeple, A burning panorama, Families torn apart, Blood on the loam, Kin from the start, Now cursed to roam, Nations are breaking, Men are fleeing, Men are standing, Nations are breaking, There’s blood on the loam, Broken is the home.
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Your poem reminds me of this old (80s) song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joNzRzZhR2Y