He was a tough man, a man who had seen tragedy, death was accepted,
But the scene on the television made tears from his eyes erupted.
A child was being carried from the beach, dead and limp,
He was no longer the A male dominant, his mind floundered and became a wimp,
Angry and ashamed at humanity for this hard to watch scene,
He was fed up with death and those images he considered obscene,
He was upset and wanted to do his part,
But he knew that this would be only a start,
And then he saw a man in a white robe, The Pope, a living saint,
A man who could be described as a quiet figure, almost quaint.
He asked all of his parsons thousands upon thousands to take in the refugees.
He begged them to be lenient, and give these people sanctuary and do good deeds.
So this man who lives in a community somewhere out west,
Sent a telegram to the Pope and offered his help, to give his best.
Send me a family, maybe two, for I have a ranch,
I will accept these people, I will offer my olive branch.
He is now sitting in his kitchen awaiting a reply,
He wishes to do something good and pristine before his time to die.