They come from the West,
Covered in ashes,
Suit cases of soot.
They call them Californians,
Nomads from the west coast.
They come from burning cities,
On bare foot.
They've got stone faces,
Hardened gazes.
I can't imagine how it must be,
To have your home,
Burned from gables,
To ground.
God bless the Californians,
Lot of lost souls from the West Coast.
Jan 13, 2025
Jan 13, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC
They come from the West,
Covered in ashes,
Suit cases of soot.
They call them Californians,
Nomads from the west coast.
They come from burning cities,
On bare foot.
They've got stone faces,
Hardened gazes.
I can't imagine how it must be,
To have your home,
Burned from gables,
To ground.
God bless the Californians,
Lot of lost souls from the West Coast.
How did we get here, prayers to those fleeing the California wildfires.
Request permission to use this poem