Who
were the saints,
those poor
excuses
for futile
hope
for
wishes bleached
by history’s evacuation?
Then
maternity
was sacrificed
for vain
eternity
and counter-revolution.
Jealous
chimes
praised
horrid
crimes
laundered
in the New York Times.
When
they again go in
(marching)
who
in their number
wants to be
hanging
from crosses,
staining ballots
sustaining malice
from sea
to shining sea.