God Bless The Children Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

God bless the children who dwell in the desert
And bake in the heat under African skies,
Scorched by the sunlight the land lies infertile
So cracked and now empty their waterhole lies,
In drought they do thirst they are longing for rainfall
But each day they wake to the glow once again,
That slowly does rise through the shadows of darkness
And dwells on this vast and so desolate plain.

God bless the children have pity upon them
Both naked and starving so wracked with disease,
And dry mother's tears as they're trying to comfort
Their young ones so precious they can never please,
They sing to them softly and cradle them gently
They yield what they have but they've little to give,
Forlornly they gaze to the heavens above them
Their sons and their daughters have not long to live.

God bless the children they do not deserve this
And nor should they suffer the way that they do,
So fly blown and dirty nobody can save them
Our hands only able to pray for them too,
As life slips away in the blink of a moment
They watch them all die and are helpless to save,
Then wrapping their bodies in rags while they're weeping
And placing each child in a hole for a grave.