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The Crossing

 

 

A drifting dinghy in the shed tear of a storm’s cry

Souls crouched desperately frightened beneath bedraggled rags

They seek a future: We have one to give, and that’s why

Our safe refuge is undetermined by their tattered flags

 

Don’t consider them foreigners from a foreign land 

They are pitiful parents, young children who need our care

To be warmly welcomed, not pol...

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