NFI

I do not know who sent these men
(Some wash ashore here now and then).

Extra space on an empty ship
Has granted five hundred a trip;
A pocket lined, a nation sold,
Black bodies filling up the hold,
Shipped over the Atlantic sea
Then landed, with a plaintive plea.

Unasked for and unexpected,
Ushered in by the elected.
Thus like blood spilled spreads out the lie,
And England’s pyre, heapèd high,
Runs wild with fire, and we’re blighted
With the claim they were invited.