Awake we sit
Armed to the teeth and waiting for war
It marches through doorways
Ours is next.
I look at you and see blood.
From our forefathers and theirs
Lucky strikes his fortune
Mayhem behind, more ahead.
Woe to the unprepared!
Why didn’t you make plans
For something you couldn’t foresee?
Woe to the doomsayers!
Why do you make ready
Your homes for the impossible?
Aren’t you ready
For inquisition of the top
The scrutiny of the roof.
Responsibility lay there,
its little hands poke up
Out of the hay wanting
To be picked up and taken
Out of the shed,
The manger.