Kings fall and kingdoms crumble
when the tiny men come marching in
The mothers made a melting pot
made us a melting pot
forged us in adversity when the flame wavered
Her shores welcome us
for better or for worse
in sickness and in health
A marriage to the alleys
where the blood of our men flows
with the menses of our wombs
All we know is pain and solitude and hard work
our open palms slapped with thin wispy sticks
as we reach out for each other
This behavior is not condoned.
This behavior will be eradicated.
Until a new tiny man marches upon us,
Hiding in the sweat of our brows
As we turn to the great crumbling palace for guidance
and wait and wait and wait
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