“Be silent, dear child, make not a sound,
lest by Herrod’s soldiers we’ll be found.
No whimper, cry or any small noise;
They have orders to ****** boys.”
I’ve heard your playmates’ mothers scream
as their sons were taken from their arms.
And heard their helpless piteous cries
forced to watch as their dear ones die.
The streets of Bethlehem run red
with nearly every male child dead.
All lie victims of Herod’s fears
Of every prophecy he hears.
I hear a brute’s fist pound our door.
He’ll still my heart ere he strikes yours.”