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.