they will come to take our children
carrying them in baskets black,
tall hooded men with swords and rifles
walking solemnly in the dark.
they will not talk, nor even look at
you, me – and we will cringe in corners.
they will take them to red brick factories
where the chimney is always emitting smoke
and the town house covered in soot.
have no doubt, friend, they will come.
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