3 of 16

I stand at the end of the line

Where there seems to be no more time

The end in soon to be here

And I can just barely hear

The whistle blow

Even through, times may be low

But I dare not give in

For we can still create

For there is still time to make

I stand at the end of the line

Where there seems to be no more time

The end in soon to be here

And I can just barely hear

The whistle blow

Others stand beside me

For the hungry mouths we feed

Our hands become heavy

And our bodies become weary

We stand at the end of the line

Where there seems to be no more time

The end in soon to be here

And we can just barely hear

When the whistle stops blowing

It is time to go

To a place I call home

The little ones go first

For they die with thirst

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Poetry: Children & poverty

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