As a sleepy Moon yawns, “Good morning, Sun”,

The rising Sun whispers. “Good night, dear Moon”.

And Sally laughs, it seems such fun,

When Daddy sings his favourite tune

To Sally, she is Daddy’s daughter,

Watching clouds seek out the deep blue sea,

to gather drinking water.

And all of this in the month of June,

As I stare up high at their red balloon.

Before a gentle breeze sends them on their way

To a timeless land, where dreams do play.

And when I wake from my dreamland rest,

My pillow reveals, a hollow nest . . .

where thoughts and dreams did interplay

Once night had found out where I did lay,

Until daybreak. As slowly, gently, each one is brushed away

Like cobwebs.  Finite particles . . .

Fragments, from life’s infinite array.

Then throughout the day my mind is soothed,

as other memories come and go.

Of my little Sally, playing, only eight years old,

Too young to see, to young to know

Why her daddy would be gone to war,

Not with the armed forces, but to fight the law.

To provide a new life, for them all to share,

In a land where people really care.

For Sally plays in the dust and rubble, of the Arab sand,

Bombed daily, and in constant trouble,

as others fight for their land.

As her mother tends to her mental pain.

And her brothers and sisters cry out,

for these acts are insane.

Knowing Daddy promised a new life, away from it all.

She said she imagines me, speaking at the foreign podium,

Standing firm, proud and telling them all,

That his Sally is watching them,

to make their judicial call.

To let our family live, with hope, and peace.

And to make the constant mental anguish cease.

(In response to World Refugee Day prompt #3)