"We are going to Cuba,"
I hear someone say.
Is my family in Cuba?
I wonder and pray.

When we get over to Cuba,
I'm looking around,
Everyone's yelling,
I can't take the sound!

Then people return,
I watch as they cry,
The sound is depressing,
I just want to die.

I look all around me,
For someone I know
A friend or a neighbour,
Where do I go?

The cries all around me,
Eventually fade,
And people get happy,
The choice has been made.

We're going to Canada,
A place that is free.
I hope that my family
Will go there for me.

As we head on our way,
I pray and I cry,
Cuz I'm just a child,
Asking God why.

~*~Lizzie~*~
Nov. 20, 2003