Ye, Oh ye my little ones who patter forth on silent feet
Ye who whisper secretly with downcast eyes, perchance we meet,
Thee who failed, in droves, to vote yet mouthed foul words at what transpired
Across this nation wallowing, wringing hands, feel defiled,
Pray glance now at thy countenance shadowed deep in mirror’s face,
Scan thee there integrity?…. or see thy image thinly graced?
Shoulder thee this burden’s share now burning in thy conscience flame?
….or disdainfully dismiss, absolving thee from
vivid eyes of blame?
Hark the herald Angels sing
so witness thee, thy forsakening.

M.
The White House, Hamilton NZ
23 January 2017