Rains are gone, the plains are dry,
Dust clouds fill the evening sky.
Crops have failed, children die,
Mothers so weak, they cannot cry.

Civil wars take their toll,
Corrupt governments seek their goal.
War machines and idols of gold,
Acts of terror soon unfold.

Running to play in the warm sunshine,
She stumbles headlong onto a mine.
Left to struggle on one weak leg,
The other now, a wooden peg.

No feelings left, minds are blank,
Parents slaughtered by an enemy tank.
Haunted by images in a suffering mind,
Trapped by eyes totally blind.

In a land of pain and sorrow,
No one thinks about tomorrow.
But one emotion they never hide,
Is their indomitable, boundless pride.

Homes of mud and woven straw,
Fear of snake and lion's claw.
No hope left from which to draw,
Survival is by jungle law.

Seated around the tribal chief,
Each unfold their hidden grief.
How to provide the family's food,
From a landscape with only wood.

With no seed, they cannot sow,
Tears of frustration freely flow.
But from such scenes we become immune,
We just switch channels to life on the Moon.

Through the years we've watched their plight,
All too often a harrowing sight.
If there is a God above,
Can't he send them more than love?

(c) John McKay Withey