Oh, Little Child

Joel Peter WitkinOh, Little Child
Henry Treece

Oh, little child, see how the flower
You plucked bleeds on the iron ground;
Bend down, your ears may catch its voice,
A passionless low sobbing sound.

Oh, Man, put up your sword and see
The brother that you dig to death;
There is no hatred in his eye,
No curses crackle in his breath.

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