The Workhouse
Children of darkness do not play under the Bluebird sky
nor do they feel the sunshine of a summer's morning
on little backs and faces..
instead they toil from dawn to dusk in rooms of
darkness with dirt floors and grey walls..
barefoot urchins from six to ten
hollow eyes that stare at sewing machines
where tiny fingers thread and weave garments
for rich ladies and gentlemen who buy the cloth of silk..
spun by little folk who had the misfortune to be born paupers..
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