The Cries of Aleppo
Who will buy my clean water,Distilled from the tears of mothers,
Decanted into these pretty phials,
Only $10 a sip, $10 a sip?
Who will buy my fresh peace plan,
Woven together by vested interests,
Look at the fine words from foreign lands,
A priceless gift for your children?
Who will buy my concrete rubble,
Made yesterday by a barrel bomb,
Ideal for burying the dead quickly,
Offer me any bloodprice you want?
Who will buy my Pandora's Box,
Crafted from the last tree in Aleppo,
The asking price is only $1, yes $1,
On account there is no Hope?
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 696 times
Written on 2016-10-05 at 09:37
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