Punctured Souls1 Poem by Jacob Micheal

Armed at all time, cap-a-pie.
leaving no room for tete-a-tete
Dwelt amongest enemy and snake
when enemy; our land they inevade

other, 'r death serves as joy
like the death on cross calvary
oh! ay, 'r life oft citizen's life
we hast forgotten our home

Gun bullet o'er our head?
't is either kill or be killed
widow turn our women
Nay, our children, orphan

for 'r punctured soul, they paid
Twenty shekels, thou remembered
cry, joy; on our return home
cry for puntured soul, joy for enemy