The strangers’ children laugh along the street:
They know not, or forget,
The sweeping of the net
Flung to ensnare such little careless feet.
And we we smile and watch them pass along,
With those who walk beside,
Soft-smiling, cruel-eyed:
We guard our own-not ours to right the wrong.
We do not care-we shall not heed or mark
Till we shall hear one day,
Too late to strive or pray,
Our daughters’ voices crying from the dark.
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