Forth the weapons of war are gone,
Blowing a horn, a call held ahigh:
"Death to the X, vive la Y!"
A mother at home mourns for her son,
Her husband and brother, for all she can cry:
"Turn back the X, bring home the Y."

A knife in the darkness finds a new sheath,
Victims of location fall down and die:
"Here come the X, mort de la Y!"
The mother at home lays a new wreath,
Her uncles are leaving but none asking why:
"Who are the X, who are the Y?"


2005 Eline






we are the universe in bloom:
we are the petals, open to attract -
the bees, the rest of the bloom;
but beneath our beauty is life,
the great vast expanse of life -
and it grows and thrives and lives,
without us, and within us.
we are the surface, we are the life,
but without us, it lives on:
the universe, for all eternity,
till the end of time,
and the end of space.

and spring comes around again.


2006 Eline





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