The camp overflows as refugees
Seek shelter from the constant
And brutal efforts to rid the area
Of undesirable elements;
Life reduced to racial discord.
In the wee small hours of the morning
A new life enters into an era
Of hatred and violence;
Her sweet melodious cries lost
Within the cacophony of war.
Bright innocent eyes look and
See a brave new world,
Filled with possibilities;
Born in a field, perhaps she will
Only know of the wide open spaces
Freedom can instill.