You came to this land

Still bearing the scars

from the taskmasters hand.

Little or no English do you speak,

Yet, still with hope in your heart

You work for happiness and peace.

For there are few here, that truly understand,

The enormity of the oppression you escaped

when you fled your homeland.

For all they see

and all they feel

is their own bigotry and hate,

a hate that pours like poison

from their black and frightened hearts.

For they despise you

And try to defile you

for your dreams.

And just simple dreams they are

Dreams of making a home

dreams being free.

It hurts me to know,

That so freely my friends

let their hate show.

for they do not even try to understand,

that you are just like them,

that you are a human being

and not the dog they claim you to be.

All this hate,

Because their jobs you took, they claim.

But let me tell you my little foreign friend,

They quit those same jobs…again and again.

For they are too tough, you see…

For those of us reared in the land of the free.

I can not tell you how often I have heard,

"man, I'm not doing this kind of work"

Yet you my little foreign friend,

will labor a toil like there is no end.

Never once have I heard you complain,

that this job is too much and causes you pain.

So I will take this moment to wish you my best,

for you have proven yourself worthy of this quest.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004