Post #1013572
2026-04-08 11:44 UTC
This is no time for tears, no place for mournful poses.
We have a trust to fill before our brief day closes.
A hundred thousand Saccos and Vanzettis starkly die
Whose agonizing arms accuse the stormy, blooded sky
On battlefields, in dismal mills and dank, dark mines,
In fetid tenements and on brave, far-flung picket-lines.
Replies (1)
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@klep@anarchism.space 2026-04-08 11:44
Whence comes the hue that stains the workers' flag so red? The rich have dyed it deep with the blood of our slaughtered dead. It is they who have sown the tempest, they who have made it war. Our children shall win to freedom; theirs shall pay the score. - Ralph Cheyney