Their eyes no longer blank

As they had risen from concrete crumbles.

In the burning heat of day

And in the rituals of the night.

Rushing through the strings of dirty tents

Trying to find the ceaseless end

Looking for the mothers and fathers

That will never be seen again.

But in the stillness of the morning,

They will rise so yet again

To use the energy that's left, to climb

The grassy hill,

the steepened slope.

They will not take for granted

They will give all that they have

and it's worth it all for us,

To see them smile just once more.

And by the time that the numbers

And endless words a count finish,

They have climbed back down the mountain

To the forever blackness of the tents.