All Along the Watchtower
All
along the watchtower,
little babies
line the tower
curled up
in a foetal
in the cold.
They live motherless
as
little snowflakes fall.
They live fatherless
as
the wind
sweeps,
every minute,
the weakest cry
into a better world.
High pitched cries
from frail bodies
weaken
by miles of seconds
Passing by.
As more fade
a multiplicity
of babies
are dropped off
along
the watchtower.
They're colder
and more shivering.
No one to feed
poor souls!
No one to fade
their cries
No one to give
them attention
No one
who cares
No one
at all.
It simply
difficult
to feel
helpless.
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