God bless the children who dwell in the desert <br />And bake in the heat under African skies, <br />Scorched by the sunlight the land lies infertile <br />So cracked and now empty their waterhole lies, <br />In drought they do thirst they are longing for rainfall <br />But each day they wake to the glow once again, <br />That slowly does rise through the shadows of darkness <br />And dwells on this vast and so desolate plain. <br /> <br />God bless the children have pity upon them <br />Both naked and starving so wracked with disease, <br />And dry mother's tears as they're trying to comfort <br />Their young ones so precious they can never please, <br />They sing to them softly and cradle them gently <br />They yield what they have but they've little to give, <br />Forlornly they gaze to the heavens above them <br />Their sons and their daughters have not long to live. <br /> <br />God bless the children they do not deserve this <br />And nor should they suffer the way that they do, <br />So fly blown and dirty nobody can save them <br />Our hands only able to pray for them too, <br />As life slips away in the blink of a moment <br />They watch them all die and are helpless to save, <br />Then wrapping their bodies in rags while they're weeping <br />And placing each child in a hole for a grave.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/god-bless-the-children-2/
