When I went to work I was but a child,
And so I did not get to wake to go wild,
In mirthful song, "cheep! cheep! he-he!"
So I sweat for you and sweep your factories.

My best friend Anushka, who lost his left arm,
Because the factories don't care if we come to harm,
"Hush little Anushka for pain does not last,"
"It does; they want me to work twice as fast!"

And yet he was blessed, that night in his sleep,
In to the realm of the Angels he peeped,
All children he saw them, at work, at their looms,
Captive and caged in the satanic rooms.

Stooped down from Heaven, a god with a foot,
That stamped on the walls till they were dust and were soot,
Down valleys, in rivers, the children rejoice,
Filling the sound of the Earth with their voice.

God, speechless with Love for their souls, so bold,
Enveloped them in his aura of gold,
The zephyr divine for which Saints forfeit vice,
Given freely to children for their being so nice.

Anushka awoke, and walked to work for miles,
Over the valleys and over the hills,
Though the factories loomed, Anushka did not fear,
For he possessed what tyrant does not; knowledge that God is near.