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When I walk the streets
of the U.S.A.
and see the children,
I extend my hands towards them,
I hug them if I can,
and then,
sadly, I walk away.
One day,
when they are bigger,
they will be sent to my country
and there,
to my sons,
they will bring death.
Maybe
they will shoot me
while I am reading this poem.
They also smile back at me
and, without knowing anything about invasions,
keep running and playing. |