That wheel of life keeps turning round and round it goes.
There is history in the making and God only knows
There are men, women, and children on foot, seeking
For someplace to call home, a place of safekeeping.
Running from a war that was not of their making
Leaving their homeland and feeling sad and forsaking.
Some dying in deep watery graves before they reach land.
They are reaching to you and me to give a helping hand.
Some give the blind eye and turn their heads the other way.
This is desolation on these people and it could us one day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem