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SONG OF A REFUGEE CHILD

October 19, 2010

HOME

 The radio played softly.

She sat quietly by,

Her eyes seeing only something

In the far distance,

Her small child’s hands

Gently folded in her lap.

Outside

The heat and dust

Held in the tiredness

And the sadness

Of the refugee camp.

I touched her arm cautiously.

I did not want to disturb

Her special, deep thoughts.

“Do you know the song?”

I asked of the music

Flowing from the radio.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Then sing for me,”

I requested.

She looked at me,

Her eyes suddenly glistening.

“No uncle.

I don’t want to sing,

I just want to go home.”

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