The Migrant

Who are those wretched people That toil out in the countryside? I see them stooping near the earth Where do they all reside? There are also little girls and boys That stroll behind the women. They clasp dirty broken toys Why are they not in school? Who are these common people That work from dawn to dusk? I wonder where they sleep at night And where they put their trust. They eat their meals under a tree Where a mother holds her child. See that infant on her knee? That child my friend was me.