A small boy runs from his home,
holding his sister’s hand.
Out into the heat of the midday sun.
Shouting run let’s run.
He left his home, his mother dead,
chased by a man with a gun.

The small boy huddles under a hedge.
His sister sobs by his side,
Maybe if he stands in the road,
someone will give him a ride,

An hour has passed, and no one stops.
They are just too busy
with their own concerns
to glance in their direction.

The small boy walks for many miles,
holding his sister’s hand.
He is hungry and tired.
Day has turned to night
Then he sees in the distance
a house, a home with some light.

He bangs on the door there is noise inside.
He can hear their laughter and joy.
A man looks through the glass
and sees the small girl and boy.

What are you doing here,
he shouts,
Get off my land.
Go back where you belong.
Do you understand.

Can we really believe this tale,
Of course it’s hard to see,
that this could happen in a place
so civilized and free.

Yet seventy million refugees,
live in camps worldwide.,
Turned away from safer shores.
Thousands of children died.

This is not somewhere else,
too far away from here.
These are our neighbours
friends and kin.
Can we just open our arms and
let them in.