Brethren, hear our words of peace. We
Like thy squalor not at all. Our
Only wish to heal thy wounds,
Our hope to see thy sons grow tall.
Do not these tyrants stir thy hate? E’en
So with us, despised with thee. Let
Us unite, and with one strength
Cast down these dogs, these cursed–
Kill them if we must? Oh, yes. To
Err in sentiment hath been folly heretofore!
Remember well what ills befell those
Silly dupes who helped the last gang clamber up.

Disabled by the poetic impulse at a very young age, Alan searches always for the latches that open the floodgates of kindness. When they're found watch out, watch out!! Wash you all away. Read other articles by Alan.