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14.6: Additional Poems

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    [Additional Poems]

    Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
    And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
    And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
    Oh they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

    ‘Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
    In the good old time ’twas hanging for the colour that it is;
    Though hanging isn’t bad enough and flaying would be fair
    For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

    Oh a deal of pains he’s taken and a pretty price he’s paid
    To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
    But they’ve pulled the beggar’s hat off for the world to see and stare,
    And they’re haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.

    Now ’tis oakum[1] for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
    And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
    And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
    He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.

    — 1937

    Contributors and Attributions

    1. “Prisoners sentenced to hard labour had to shred jute, a coarse fiber mixed with tar to make oakum, used for caulking wooden ships. The task bloodied their fingers” [S.Barnet, Literature for Composition, 8th ed., 1325].
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