In that bloody cold beach of Syria’s uprising, Are children with dashed hopes. Children whose parents are swallowed up by the ocean of mass graves. Graves which never fill up as the violent intolerant winds of gunfire and rocket shelling continually blow.
Their eyes look up for help from the gloomy clouds of an international Community. As the doctor, father and leader Walk cross the bloody cold beach sanded with The bodies of children whose brief lives Could only last as long as months.