Migrant

She was the talk of the town.
Tall, skinny and brown.
Refused to frown
when they beat her down.

Stood loud and proud.
Like a magnificent storm cloud.

What they hated
was that she’d migrated.
Been separated
like their antiquated views.

No matter her history
they saw her as a mystery.
To be feared and jeered,
they perceived her as weird.

Because she was not like them.
They couldn’t see.
The mayhem.
She had been forced to flee.

Over the sea.
In a small dinghy.
With no future in sight.
Braved the cold dark night.

To find no welcome.
Just a scrum of
vile bile.
From the land she had thought
was the septered Isle.