The
wind blowing over the hill
Out
of sight a rumbling sound
The
drifting aroma made him feel ill
He
climbed the hill to look around
The
column of walking humanity
With
all their procession to bear
Fleeing
from man's brutality
Moving
onward to anywhere
He
stopped to watch them walk by
The
poor the sick young and old
Tears
stained faces that no longer cry
Independence
lost doing as they’re told
Unwashed
with road dust clinging
To
clothes and faces in the creases
Back
pack and bags painful swinging
The
march onward never ceases
Hatred
and war from where they came
Walking
the Promised Land deigned
The
resentment is still the same
Moved
on if resting they tried
The
dregs of humanity in flight
Marching
that inglorious track
No
martyrs death in glorious fight
Facing
forward never back
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