From a country of strength, they sailed to the shore, with little in hand and their babies on board.
They left things behind, could not carry much more. The ship it was grand, but the ocean it roared.
The waves as they crashed, they all fell to the floor. They grabbed on to things through the storm as it poured.
The buckets set out, for the sick and the sore. The folks with a fever were tossed without oars.
The strong made their way to this maple land, poor. They were left in a field where they worked to their core.
With nothing attached to their home before, they picked themselves up and began to soar.
When I look at my life, through an open door, I see what they did, who they did it for.