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child water

Another day another morn;
At this refugee camp;
The sun is not yet born;
And the floor is damp.

The tent’s walls are dug deep;
For when the sky does pour;
Whilst at all corners I sleep;
Mother sleeps at the rags made door.

I shouldn’t wake her up;
She is smiling while dreaming;
But the queues will soon fill up;
I guess I should be leaving.
I I’ll go bring some water; it’s only a mile;
So when she wakes up, she’ll have a greater smile.

Others won’t compromise I must hurry;
For I might have to rest or stop;
Not too much I can carry;
So, two jars will do the job.

Now my steps can’t compete;
With those of the elders, sigh;
Last to the well but at least;
Some are letting me pass them by.

After two hours in the sun;
My jars are full hurray;
I should carry only one;
And drag the other one I say;
I haven’t gotten far and it seems like years;
Replacing each drop I spill by salty tears.
©FAT 2016

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