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Night comes. The clock clangs midnight
They go running from the small shack-home.
Hair flying behind them like butterflies,
Scratchy pajamas brushing against one another,
Like the fields they worked in all day and night.
People of all different sizes, different ages,
The hope that brought them all together;
The hope to find their freedom.
Elders leading, seeking
Just one sign-the sign that says “SAFE”
At least for a while.
Young mothers picking up children
Some falling behind.
Others without child run ahead
Hunting for the hope they need.
Sun rising, the house becomes clear,
Elderly couple spotted
Beckoning for the haggard faces to follow.
Rushed into a dank den in the ground.
Tromping boots carrying death
Everywhere but the hole.
Darkness brings movement
And the group heads northward again
Until they cross the border into Pennsylvania.
Home at last.