The children of Syria dream just like mine,

they long and they wish for play-times sublime.

where skipping and hopscotch beckon a smile,

and the end of a rainbows begs to beguile.

Pretty long lashes on cherub soft eyes

wake in a panic as a bomb smokes the skies.

and trauma of war-time ends a sweet dream

for a Syrian child as her peace turns to scream.

The children of Syria breath just like yours

but smoked-air's inferior and deadly of-course.

And the mother's of Syria cry as they see

their small darling children die endlessly

their babies clutch close as angry jets roar

in the arms of stressed mothers fleeing from war.

The children of Syria bleed as ours do

as violent explosions destroy their homes too.

Mortar and bricks crushing young lives

broken forever those few whom survives.

And the children of Syria can't understand

why our great Western world batters their land.