Another time, another place,
Or even of a different race,
This child might not survive.
Yet here she is alive,
Living in prosperity.
This girl-child’s father and mother
Had no constraint to smother
Her, or choose to hide
While waiting for a ride
To hope across an open sea.
This little one, weak in her chest,
Was able still to pass the test
For passage to Australia.
No risk there of failure,
An ideal migrant family!
That child is grown and powerful now.
Does she ever wonder how
It happened, and what would have become
Of her, if not a ten pound Pom,
She’d been instead a refugee?