Sweet Children, Sleep

To the Newtown Children A poet cries with broken heart Look thine hearts be washen clean with death, God knows how hastily can be By an unfitting goodly young man Become just another evil’s killer. Take thou no mean of life That so tenderly and small Arranged now along that cold room Where a hundred of parents Like you and I look on poor children that thou think: One day they shall be a doctor or a thinker like us. To understand really why the hungry death Has to do for their final journey in front of this sickness? O, children! American children! My children! I warn thee in all my heart and soul That could not happen so earlier on life And where thou cast the peace and saint in the kindness of grace Take care of them from danger, thou take for a leaf And makes my heart bleeding every one like us become angry How in this heavenly nation this massive fate could occur? Hold me fast in thine embrace God, Where my despair cannot be silenced, Let you and me and everyone else to knee and cross Our fingers against our chest and pray for them, Give them, Lord, thy blessing give, Pray for them and mother as well, And I shall finish this poem with trembled Fingers and tears cascading over this bloody Sheet as an awaken wind has just blown it from me.