Drummings on an Empty Skull

This is the word that Jacob

Meeting his death in Egypt

Laid on the brow of Judah,

Lion of all the earth:

“Nations shall bow before thee,

“All of thy brothers shall praise thee,

“Fruit on thy boughs shall blossom,

“Tribes from thy loins have birth.”

Sing-song chants from the ghettoes,

Tell of a thin limbed people,

Crowded into their hovels,

Rats who blink at the sun—

Where is thy heritage, Judah?

Lost in the mists of ages.

These are a bastard motley,

Ghosts of a race long run.