I was listening to a Syrian refugee being interviewed on the radio today. She said, "I dream every day of coming home to kiss the sand and feel the flag brush across my face." Her words stuck out to me as a poem waiting to happen.

I dream each night
Of returning home.
I kiss the sand
Of my lovely land
And feel the flag
Of my native race...
Its wind-blown folds
Caress my face.

The second-to-last line is still a bit messy. I think it's rather long.


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