Still crying in Palestine

Homes all sit in orderly rows,
except where now, black smoke flows.
Children cry who got out in time,
in the streets of Palestine.

Scent of flowers, smelling so fair,
crops ground to dust, without care.
Refugees plod north, in long lines,
through the fields of Palestine.

Beautiful water sparkles blue,
broken bridges falling in two.
Looking for ways, so hard to find,
through rivers of Palestine.

Countrymen greet with love and joy,
crowded so tight, poor little boy.
Hoping its safety they will find,
in the camps of Palestine.

Too young for love, too old to wait,
hearts filling up fast with hate.
Look to find what used to be mine,
orphaned child of Palestine.

Market day in the Golan Heights,
a sad young boy without rights.
Explodes his vest to feel divine,
nothings changed in Palestine.