Your grip is choking our democratic independence
Sheepish wolves tout alternative facts and figures
We are the granddaughters of unassailable witches
Our sister soldiers march in step to your incantations
And war dance around maypoles you so proudly display
You are the grandsons of impulsive, impelling Puritans
Nazis march at the snap of your heiling fingertips
But supremacists will be flattened by rosy, riveting fists
We are the granddaughters of unflappable witches
Char us, drown us, press us, prick us, curse us, kill us
We will not falter, or even flinch, at your savage assault
You are the grandsons of implicitly impaired Puritans
If you try to char, drown, press, prick, curse, or kill us
You will answer to our witchy, unburnable daughters
34
Cauldron Anthology