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Little Poem #12

To whom this may concern

Young boys dressed in green,

Pick up your arms,

It’s off to the fields.

Mothers stop weeping

Make yourselves useful,

The fields need sweeping.

Father’s be proud,

Your boy killed seven,

and you’ll see him in heaven.

Dear mothers, there is still another

Why don’t you send us his younger brother?

Fathers be glad, we found your son

He’s intact, in a body bag.

And fathers, don’t feel bad,

The dead can still call you dad.

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About Black-Eyed Fetus

A literary rebel with a cause.. It's the only good fight there is. "I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam."

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