My attempts to be of help to refugees and renegades,
Fighters and flighters, wounded and needy,
Hopefuls and desperates,
Have so far been futile, alas.
At a jam session in a whiskey bar last night
I met a young jazz musician
Who’d just picked up his sister from Kiev.
A silent, shy, dishwasher blonde girl
Holding her smartphone like a hand grenade.
She doesn’t speak English, he apologized.
Welcome to Amsterdam, I tried. (No smile.)
When I offered a round of drinks,
They gently albeit sternly declined.
Not once, I might add, but twice.
I guess this leaves me no other choice
Than to continue on the road not taken.
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Wat fijn dat jullie er zijn