Off a long-haul flight she came
Every year to see
The friends she left to write
From countries people flee
As the sun in our west
Fell on ankles and long limbs
She spoke of the exodus
And kidnappings
Of nearly seven years
The guards at her front door
The rugs and dogs and cups of chai
Collecting on her floor
But most of all, of people
And seeing to their care
And making sure arrangements
Were kind and fair
Her voice still low and loyal
Her courage still alight
A little rest
Before the next
Story and flight
