There are charges back and forth upon either side, Some true, some false. You can read the official reports, The dozen thick black-bound volumes of oaths and statements, A desert of type, a dozen black mummy-cases Embalming the long-forgotten, building again The cumbrous machine of guards and reports and orders, “Respectfully submitted”⁠ ⁠… “I beg to state”⁠ ⁠… “State of kitchen⁠—good.”⁠ ⁠… “Food, quality of⁠—quite good.”⁠ ⁠… “Police of hospital⁠—good except Ward 7”⁠ ⁠… “Remarks⁠—we have ninety-five cases of smallpox now.”⁠ ⁠… “Remarks⁠—as to general health of prisoners, fair.”⁠ ⁠… “Remarks”⁠ ⁠… “Remarks”⁠ ⁠… “Respectfully submitted”⁠ ⁠… Under this type are men who used to have hands But the croaking wheels have respectfully submitted them Into a void, embalmed them in mummy-cases, With their chills and fever, their looks and plans of escape.