By Robert Higgs • Tuesday November 2, 2010 7:21 PM PDT • 1 Comment
Light rain falls from the leaden skies
As the slaves proceed to the hall.
No light shines in their languid eyes.
They mark their X, and that is all.
They take their leave, having been polled.
A sick one falls; they file past her.
They can do no more: they’re controlled.
But soon they’ll have a new master!