John McKay Withey
Poems of John McKay Withey
|3.||Pages Of History||5/18/2009|
|4.||Right Colour Wrong Race.||6/6/2009|
|6.||Senses Of Pleasure||5/21/2009|
|9.||Suffer Little Children.||5/9/2009|
Suffer Little Children.
Blond curls and big blue eyes,
He soon realised the futility of his cries
To a mother with no love in her heart,
Pain and suffering she would impart.
Before the age of two, his back was broken,
Long before his first words were spoken.
His bruised body with festering sores,
His blood splattered on the dirty floors.