They don't keep score
Because there are no points
In this place
Only the hope of better-off
Days with soccer balls
Made like they should be,
Clothes that fit and
Grass fields, unfenced, unbound
No broken glass
Or rubble piles high as
The sky, that's not our limit.
Past the goodbyes,
The seeded grass will grow
Like a meadow after
A fire. Rebirth, if we let it.
Let it root and the sky
Will crack
Above the dirt covered shacks,
Washing clean,
Washing them anew.
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