Those Little Hands
In our land hidden are many
Hands that work hard for a penny
Hands at the loom all day and night
Weaving a mile long carpet bright
Hands forced to work by heartless kicks
Hands hurt by hot tongs and bricks
Hands that are by bonds held tight
Hands wishing their future was all right
Hands polishing hard on every boot
Hands that to the rule of Fate salute.
Hands they are of children who long
To play, and dance to a melodious song
Little hands that crave to write in books
The hands of those with innocent looks.
Hands that silently point it’s a flaw
To take away their rights to read, write and draw.