Lesson 26
It feels wrong to hope, dear lordbut I do. It feels wrong. It feels a cope.
But I do, and I do ceaselessly.
The trees exist despite the wounds
man inflicts on it. The rivers run
despite the roads we try to build.
My hope is not that we survive.
We can all die, but I hope the children,
the only perfect entrants into heaven
can find it lined with trees to climb
and rivers to swim in, and no adults
to bomb them. That is what I hope.
Poetry by Sameen
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Written on 2024-11-01 at 17:06
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