Babies of the Clay

Babies of the Clay

They like the ground that has hugged their small bones These angels who lie in the deep. Together their little last postures were found Discovered there, thrown in a heap.

Better the cold and the damp of the earth To the life they endured in their need: They knew the hunger, the famishing dearth, Those bellies that cried for a feed.

Chorus Take them up easy, wrap them in love Give them the joy of a name; We marvel at this, the small treasure trove Wrapped in the quilt of our shame. They will go down in the annals of pain These innocents cast out like waste, Show us the door where we might lay the blame: It is our’s, will we shut it in haste?

The ground where they’re lying is naked and poor Their bodies have made it a shrine These innocent children they put from their door The wasted, the famished, the dying.

These are the first-born tarnished with shame; That share in no Passover feast, Struck by the hand that was blessed in our name. Of all of us, these were the least.

They will go down in the annals of pain These innocents cast out like waste, Show us the door where we might lay the blame: It is our’s, will we shut it in haste? Take them up easy, wrap them in love Give them the joy of a name; We marvel at these, the small treasure trove Wrapped in the quilt of our shame. — © Frank Callery June 5th 2014.