That little urchin with the nut-brown hair, Playing in the park with her Sister young and fair, Watches warily the Strangers ‘ere they approach- All swart of skin with sinister eyes, Souls of lust and hearts a’teem with lies.
Her kith and kin flee bleating, As the policeman turns his coat retreating, The Strangers steal in like honeytongue jackals- “Have a fag, here’s a drink, mind some Turkish Delight?” “Don’t be shy, come along, we’ll have such fun tonight!”
She swallows her fear down tight, Young heart wild with pulse to flight, She knows their tricks- By bitter pain has learnt every lie, She knows what fate awaits her and her dear Sister- God, she’d rather die.
When the Lion charges baring tooth and claw, The Zebra Mare back-lashes hoof against jaw, ‘Ere the Nighthawk unsheathes her talons, Mother Owl brandishes her wings, So too now the Young Queen of Scots draws weapons from their slings.
Her dolls collect dust, toys and ribbons and all things girlie, Hate tramps wild through her blood, infused far too early, For Sister’s sake she joins the battle, Broken at ten, a warrior by twelve, Terror-stricken yet bravely to the fight doth she delve!
In one hand the knife to cut, to slash, or to throw, The other- a hatchet of iron made to sunder bone. For Sister’s sake she’ll fight tooth and nail, Torpedoes be damned, the Law be darned! Not one hair of her head shall they harm!
Hack away one! Hack away all! For her, let every kingdom crumble and fall! For her, may every prince and potentate bend his knee! And each and every soul be forever warned- That not one hair of her head shall be harmed!
The coverart for this poem is by
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