Promised Land

Please, Papa, tell us again …

Where should I begin?

Well, your Papa was a simple man

Who came to this promised land

Where people sounded funny

At least they did to me

To tell the truth

I was a little nervous

I found it hard to make eye contact

As in the old country

We lowered our heads

When walking past

The armed guards

What else, Papa?

When I first heard

Of this promised land

I begged to be let in

Saying I own two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this, your Dar al-Salam

Papa, what do you remember most?

I recall when I arrived

I watched for the signs

To tell me I was home

I promised this promised land

Not to ask for a handout

But to welcome each helping hand

When I first heard

Of this promised land

I begged to be let in

Saying I own two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this, your promised land

I carried such a deep longing

To leave tyranny behind

To savour freedom

I trusted the one above had a plan

To bring Papa to this promised land

Oh, Papa, say it again

When I first heard

Of this promised land

I begged to be let in

Saying I own two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this, your Goshen

Yes, two working hands

They're enough to begin again

In this promised land

Thank you, Papa

For trusting the plan

So, we could be born

In this promised land

Please, Papa, tell us again …

Where should I begin?

Well, your Papa was a simple man

© 2026 John Osinga. All rights reserved. St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada.