"We're open for business," the politicians cry,
"We're open for business," where smoke fills the sky.
Where bodies of sheep litter the ground,
Where pyre or pit cannot be found.
Strong weathered farmers stand there and cry
And watch as their animals stumble and die.
Men in white garb sprinkled with red
Butcher and burn or bury the dead.
No marker stands where animals fell,
The sick, the infected and those that were well.
There are herds in this country that are still to be shot,
Don't cry, "We're open for business," when clearly, we're not!
--By William Wilson
Copyright 2001 William Wilson. All rights reserved.
If you wish to meet William, scroll down to the bottom of the page.
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