The Stoics, circa 2022.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" * Each refugee in their own Ukrainian homeland has a story to tell. It is my task to at least bear photographic witness to some of this stoicism I witness in schools across their land where they have collectively found safety, warmth, shelter, food in numbers, not needing to cross to fabled, promised lands & families, of new homes & resettlements awaiting their arrival, beyond Ukraine's borders. They each wish to stay, albeit away from the devastation & death at home, close to their western borders contiguous to Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, Moldova. Here they will stay until it is safe to return. * - second verse on the plinth on the Statue of Liberty, by Emma Lazarus.