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When bombs blast buses,
snipers shoot innocents,
cancer kills my twin sister,
and talk of war fills the air,
I must lie down in the meadow
to bathe in greenly life –
stare at billions
of bursting blades of grass,
listen to birds offering
tiny trumpet serenades,
feel the cottony breeze
calming my cheeks,
breathe in growing earthy
smells ‘til my lungs fill
and I can remember
old monk Godric’s words,
“All of death placed next to life
would scarcely fill a cup.”

Christmas 2002