By Sandra Rippetoe © 2024

Not long ago in a land not very far away
war reigned for three years, five months, and a day.

Living in that land were a little boy and his mother,
two people in a small apartment. There were no others.

Well, except for Tawny, a fluffy, long-haired cat
with a brownish orange coat and white fur on her head like a hat.

The day the war started; the boy (like always) was building with blocks.
Planes flew far overhead carrying missiles, bombs, or rockets.

A minute later, a distant explosion shook the ground and their windows.
With every air strike, there were loud ear-piercing crescendos.

“I know what to build,” the frightened boy said to his mom,
“I’ll build a vacuum for the sky that removes every bomb.”

“That would be wonderful,” you could hear her reply,
as she turned away, to hide the tears in her eyes.

“We have to set off, on foot, for a journey tomorrow.
All of our neighbors are leaving too, and we will follow.
I’m sorry we can’t take Tawny. We’ll leave extra water and food.
Using the cat flap, she can come and go based on her mood.
We’ll be walking about twenty miles to get to a safe place.
It won’t be like our home here, but I pray we’ll find grace.
Fill your backpack to the top with your favorite blocks.
In the front pocket, put an outfit, this photo, and two socks.
I’m going to pack as much food and water as I can carry.
It’s time to sleep now. In the morning, we can’t tarry.”

Everyone met outside when the sun’s first light shone.
Many people turned around, taking quick pictures on their phone.

On a road meant for cars, hundreds of people slowly started walking.
The atmosphere was somber and quiet, there wasn’t much talking.

At noon they sat at the roadside for water, food, and rest.
Someone asked about the miles covered. Everyone just guessed.

The boy took out his blocks, “We’ll walk not one step more.
I’ll build a train for us to board. Our feet will no longer be sore.”

“That would be wonderful,” you could hear his mom reply,
as she looked away, to hide the tears in her eyes.

By the third day of walking, their water was getting low.
“We’re just going to drink this much,” with her hand, she showed.

“But that’s not enough water, I’m thirstier than that.
I could drink up a river. I want to eat till I’m fat.”
He got out his blocks, “I’m making a well that goes deep underground.
And a fruit tree and nut tree that grow food all year-round.”

“Thank you, my young one. What wondrous things you create.”
Her eyes sparkled. “We’ll fill up our cups and have a full plate!”

On that same day at dusk, they finally arrived at the border
to find tents and shacks, in no particular order.

They were directed to a shelter to get a two-week food kit.
A nice couple told them, “We’ll help you put up your tent.”

They ate their small meal, using a candle for light.
Then, the boy said, “With my blocks, I’ll build a mansion tonight!
Don’t worry, mom, we won’t have to live here!”
Even in dim light, they could both see glistening tears.

“A mansion? Amazing!” She added, “But an apartment would be fine.
It’s enough space for our future possessions, yours and mine.”

He looked up, “What is this place called? How long will we stay?
Will I go to school and learn new things? Where will I play?”

With a sad voice she answered, “This is a refugee camp.
We’re a people without a country, living in tents, dark and damp.
Still, let’s be grateful for our lives. If we hadn’t left, we’d be dead.
I’m so glad the aid workers provide water and make sure we’re fed.”

“Tomorrow I’m building a plane that will take us home, to our new land.
People will welcome us there, with open arms and outstretched hands.”

“Thank you, my son.” she said smiling, “What a lovely idea indeed!
You know just what to build . . . to satisfy our every need.”

World Food Program USA supports the mission of the United Nations World Food Programme, the world’s largest hunger-relief organization. Its mission is to create a world without hunger. If you would like to help WFP USA feed hungry families starved by conflict and climate emergencies, please consider donating at wfpusa.org.