There is a noise coming over the land , can you not hear it?
The children are crying, the children are weeping and dying.
There has been no rain for so long that many have never known
The benison of drought defying rain falling fran swollen cloud.

So the land is a desert and a dry, dust bowl where no crops grow.
No crops are planted. There is no rain to water and nourish them.
The stock have died, and their dry white bones litter the dusty land.
And the thin wanen old before their time fight for food for the children.
The children wail pathetically’ and clutch at ugly empty bellies.

How will you answer when you stand at the gate and face St Peter?
what did you do for these little ones when you heard of their plight?
Did you put your hand in your pocket as soon as your heart was touched
By the deadly story of drought, despair, starvation, misery and death?
Or did you walk by on the .other side of the road with priest and levite
And consider it none of your business that other peoples children sorrowed?

Whichever path you choose to take, of pity and caring and sharing
Or ignoring the pains of more than three quarters of this fair world,
Be sure that the three quarters Will have justice and the sins of the fathers
Will be visited on your children unto the third and fourth generation.
Only by all of us joining to stamp out obscene horror will salvation come.

Please if you have lovely children, or grandchildren, nieces, nephews
Or cousins, look long at them and think how your heart would break
If you were that woman in Ethiopia and that pink plastic braceleted child
Was your hostage to the future and your only hope for descendants .

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