The Bodrum Carol Away from his mother, just stones for his bed The threeyearold Aylan lies on a beach, dead. The stars in the bright sky look down where he lies A drowned refugee boy attracting the flies. A camera is waiting, the media awake: This poor little Syrian no percentage will take. A scoop for the papers, more drama for Sky They’ll stay by his side till the deadline is nigh. Remember his family. I ask you to keep Their pain in your memory whenever you weep. Bless all these dear children in our tender care And bring them to Europe to live with us here. (Tune: Kirkpatrick) Brian Smith
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