Cedar Boxes
Build me a cedar box, my friend.
Make it sixteen inches wide.
Cedar will stifle the stench of death
that reeks from the doctor's knife.
Yes, place them head to head, kind sir,
and stack them double high.
Bury them six feet deep, young man,
four bodies lying thigh to thigh.
Eight would be lives in a single box.
Yes, give them decent honor.
Wholesale death in a compact grave,
sentenced by Mama and the doctor.
At what point do you think Almighty God
breathed in the Spirit of life?
Only to be judged, then put to death,
snuffed out by the doctor's knife.
So, where will you go from here, young lass?
What will your verdict be?
Will your child be given a chance to live,
or and early eternity?
3-16-92
In this poem the mortician speaks.
He isn't describing a very decent burial,
but it's better than the one these children
are likely to get. Kids, today, are killed
off by the dozens before they have a chance
to take their first breath. Won't you please
take a stand for kindness and goodness, Mama?
You are the judge! Your verdict counts!
By ArtisticPoet48
© 2008 ArtisticPoet48
(All rights reserved)
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