Psychogogue

Bright eyes glowing
Neck craned down
Scoffing at paled children
And their blue-lipped mothers

Burned and beaten
Frozen and starved
Each one of them
Ready for their rest

She herded them
None too gently
Pushing them
To the great iron doors

Some whimpered and wept
Sniveled or scowled
She treated them the same
Leading them away

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