The Fourth Horseman

I pen this creed for those we leave behind

To scrabble in the ashes and the dust,

And trust my words may touch the shrivelled mind

To find the small compassion we have lost.

No man may cite disclaimers to his fate

When apathy has ruled in dull contempt,

The protests were too slow, and came too late

Were beaten down, were foiled in the attempt.

 

Each daughter and each son that we have borne

Of perfect line, of perfect form and limb,

Accepted their prerogatives at birth,

The right to life, the right to everything!

The right to bear fine children of their own

To watch them grow, unblemished, in the sun,

But greed has long the seeds of cripples sown,

And monsters have been born to everyone.

 

Since ever peasants tired of bitter bread

And stormed the battered fortress of dissent,

The avarice of man has set the tone

Of everything the newfound masters lent;

And we must share our burden of the guilt

And count it to our cost, the grim mistake,

That peasant minds, indebted to the hilt

Were offered bread, but turned to yellowcake.

 

A people with no moral sense must fall

Who can’t control the rage of deadly toys,

And forfeit, for the overpowering pall

Respect and life, and see them both destroyed.

We said - ‘It: doesn't matter, give us work,

The world will leave us steadily behind...’

If only all the world had gone ahead,

But finally, the blind advised the blind!

 

David Lewis Paget