---

Bones and the cross and

The painless interrogation

And a broth to immerse in

The hammer to the nail in the hand

Is as to the face the unbehoving conversation

Roots under water pillaged from the dying

In the eyes of the world for the dying in the bog

Black fourtysevens, man has lept the years

Again to kneel at roughest stock

Yet in time, we proclaim:

No aliment under the sun!

No ache on the barren mud!

No word with the force to twist a tongue!

No hand for the currency of the wretched!