She sometimes dreams to fly away
A mission not a holiday,
To heal the poor with divine grace
In a warm and troubled place.
Leaving London’s wealth behind
To see what her soul can find.

Deep cradled are her ambitions
Of persuading politicians
To manage without disruption
A prompt end to corruption.
Switching on to hear the news
Yearning for some hopeful views,

She learns of massacres and wars
And turns away to do her chores
Then thinks how distant it all seems
So unreal – just like her dreams.
Yet of course it’s all too real,
But is she learning not to feel?


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