The ocean and the earth are not so deep,
the mountains never reach beyond the clouds,
what looks like death is death; it is not sleep,
the silence grows. The sea birds call aloud
for all the children taken from the ground
each one a dancer, facing death alone,
bewildered children looking all around,
stones are their pillows, sea waves are their home.
But no-one comes and nothing alters soon,
nowhere they go, the journeys to be free,
we watch them watching yet another moon
watching our screens, we see, and let it be,
we leave to cold these innocents of war
we sleep, we dream. The boat sets out once more.
Lyn 