by Martin Kornberg
Shadows of lilacs
prancing on the yellow walls
facing the sun our eyes tearing
we stand over the graves of the fallen
numbed by the silence. The winds
shift over the plain, the lilacs quiver.
We hear the voice of an underground river
for some weeping are on their faces
pressing close to the ground
they can hear moaning.
The earth is moaning, but it is a peaceful sound,
it calms our souls--It calms our souls,
and we stop our weeping.
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