Upon the scribbled pages of an oyster’s shell br There lie, on weight the scars of yester years; br Borne ashore a sea urchin belle, spherical to nation br Whose spines blacken by fragments of thunder? br br Flotsam and jetsam of war curl the eyes’ views. br O sweet child, you’re the living mirror of the radicals, br Once victim, now hunger for revenge! br Your spines, so poisonous – a terrorist in you grew.