Parenting · Syria


As I try to think up a new trivial rhyme, I find myself struggling for words at this time.

My usual jovial, bit ranty way, feels totally lost in this climate today.

My first world conundrums shame me to my core.  Their significance void I don’t care any more.

I sit in my safe, pampered sheltered homeland,
and watch as a small child’s found dead in the sand.

Another world’s stories become breaking news.  We watch and consider, perhaps share our views.

Then go back to our jobs and our chores and our day, as this carnage continues a lifetime away.

Today I admit, my existence is charmed.
I live without fear of my child being harmed.

Tonight as I tuck my two into their beds, I thank all of my stars as my lips meet their heads.

I’ll cherish their warm, safe and contented snore, and I’ll hug that bit harder than ever before.

But what separates me from these parents who mourn?
What difference is there except where we were born?

From terror and torture our fellow men flee.  Of course it’s our duty to grant sanctuary.

It’s time to climb down from our ivory tower, and put forth our vote to the few that hold power.

The war torn and weary should no longer roam.  Give them their refuge.  Welcome them home.

To donate £5 to Save the Children’s Syria emergency appeal please text SYRIA to 70008.


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