Refugees to Canada

Maple sap
There are no more green cards.
No more funnels, or bottle necks,
That hated man, shutting the gate,
And prolonging the refugees’ misery
And on top of America, is a young man,
A liberal, making enough room in welfare,
To absorb 25000 refugees. What is like,
The sun, which gives free vitamin D
And drives photosynthesis. Freedom,
Is the engine of the world, nagging away,
Refugees encroaching on a sugar-maple economy,
To sweeten their long walk to freedom.
A maple leaf, fluttering in the prairie winds,
While dozens of sugar maple trees,
Gush out maple sap, just like those refugees,
Whose masts are sparking with fledgling hope.
And the feet walk aimlessly, step by step,
Getting closer to a destiny, that is as much
To do with their acceptance. The maple kingdom,
In silver, red and sugar maples,
The little trickle from sap to opening,
Hope climbing in through the myopic pupil.
The maple leaf flutters. No Armageddon
Here, like Hiroshima, only the incoming traffic,
How one country stood for the “les miserables”,
The unwanted ones who walk aimlessly,
Until they are no longer nomads, prospering
On a breakfast table of pancakes and maple syrup,
Looking after, is like collecting the sap,
Of a sugar maple’s xylem vessels,
You only need to make a little incursion,
To a generous welfare system.
Its like drilling a maple tree, and holding a pail out,
Collecting the sweet circulation,
The humanistic face of a refugee in welfare,
The sap that turns to maple syrup,
Inside the stove, of a refugee’s heart.

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