by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The lips of the rain,
soft at first,
become
cold and stiff
from last night’s
freezing temperatures.
Out on the lake
The black-winged Pelicans
fish in huddles.
They are restored
to their ancient places,
the Great Lakes.
If only we could restore
the people to their rightful places,
bringing young and old back
to their ancient lands.
Instead millions are pushed out
from wars and famines
into a great movement
like schools of fish,
swarming,
moving like a great wheel
across the face of the deep.
fourwindowspress 
The tragedy of refugees, so well put here in this beautiful poem.
Thank you Ina. Ethel
You write with great sensitivity Ethel, and empathy for displaced people.
Greetings and thanks. Ethel
DOUBLE BIND
Those who do not feel
Lost, displaced, dispossessed
The most lost of all
Wonderful poem. Thank you. Ethel
You are very kind, Ethel. I do hope you are both enjoying the unfolding of Spring.
The image of a school of fish to represent displaced people is quite powerful as I see it almost like a great flock of blackbirds tossed by the wind. Lost people, in search of a home…which also makes me think of the individual, sense of home, and journeying. Good to read here.