Black bird singing sweetly high in the tree,

Heavy footsteps awaking with dawn's light,

Heaving breath of morn as darkness set free,

Patter of day breaking shows weeping sight.

Trauma in camp means misery no hope,

Humanity no longer seem to care,

Living among the sick and helpless folk,

No food, thirsty and cold, lead to dispair.

Sing loudly little bird and wake my love.

Morning's light reflects on her pallid face,

Waiting in my arms for the call above,

lifeless vacant eyes peer into deep space.

Cessation of hostility too late.

We who travel here have no time to wait.