Four little souls,

Sitting in a row,

Come, says Father,

You will go thither.

Will you be Black?

Or will you be White?

Will you be Asian?

Or let chance decide?

Oh, says the one,

I’ve always been White,

Grant me now this privilege

To be Black for once.

Thou knowest, Father,

Says the other one,

That being Black has never

Helped me live the life.

I could be Asian,

Says yet another,

But look here the mark,

Where they hanged me on a mast.

Thou art gracious, Father,

Says the final one,

So, gracious Father,

Let chance decide.

Ah, moans the Father,

The madness of the times!

But you’ll be gone a while

And soon be back to Me.