Refugee
Today I knitted myself a hat
In red and green, for the holly season - And pulled it on, and dreaming sat In the firelight - when for God’s own reason A shiver of ice along the bone, The shock of snow below the skin, Confused my soul with a soul alone In her fear. The air, and her shawl, were thin; She strove barefoot on the mountain With child and cart and dying man. No songs, no feasts, no star, no inn As winter comes to Kurdestan. |