Pity for him who suffers from his waste.
Water that flows from the earth
For lack of roots to hold it
And children who are murdered
Before their lives begin.
Who pays his crops to the sun
When the fields are parched by drought
Will mourn the lost water while waiting another rain.
But who shall dis-inter these girls
To love the women they were to become
Or read the legends written beneath their skin?
Those who loved them remember their child’s laughter.
But he whose hate has robbed him of their good
Has yet to weep at night above their graves.
Years roll out and rain shall come again.
But however many girls be brought to sun
Someday
A man will thirst for sleep in his southern night
Seeking his peace where no peace is
And come to mourn these children
Given to the dust.