This day is done
How cold the night is, so very cold
Huddled beneath my blanket, my hands tremble
When I think of what I’ve done
And of the things I’ve seen, and of the children...
The folks at home, if they knew
But how could they know
This is too different
To know people live this way
This dry encrusted dirt...
Soaked in my blood...
Will this help?
I must stay focused,
Though the reasons have become muddled
I must stay focused,
If one day these people are to see the difference
p. thibodeau-baker
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