Children of the Golan
CHILDREN OF THE GOLAN
Beyond the fence we shouldn't go,
not even look, if we're alone,
nor see some things we should't know.
Our innocence has died, although,
we are the children never known,
and hide the we not meant to show.
Out of this wasteland, what can grow,
where only dust has ever blown,
too where, we never even know.
The Golan seems an empty show
the yellows, browns of rock and stone,
where we must make some flowers grow?
© Ron Arbuthnot
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