The women plant themselves, waving

The Flag, flaunting

The Preamble.

In their settled do-or-die,

They seem one with the earth they occupy.

The chill, the calumny, nor inducement

Dent the steel of their immovable intent.

Their sentient innocence is more

Than the lumbering slouch of the farmer:

It is an armour we have not

Encountered before.

So how do we deal with this

Searing stab of conscience at our door?

 

Let loose the dogs of war, we say.

Throw mud till some tell-tale sticks.

Let devoted lumpens on call

Fire shots at the wall of resistance

That their deed may yield

Just the mayhem we desperately need.

 

Draft friendly messengers

Who will with energy propagate

The virtual tale we shall construct of

Mortal conspiracy against the state.

Give the dog enough bad name,

That when the time for the

Kill should come, ours will be

The victory, theirs the opprobrium.

 

What freedom there is in a politics

That thrives on lies and righteous ruse.

Anything may become anything

Through an adroit alchemy

Of cunning, menace, and abuse.

 

Meanwhile, many who applaud the grit

Of the women against the mighty rot

Wonder whether the heavens will look on

And not take their part.

For now, they stand in awe and salute.

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