I tear the trailing ivy
From the trunk of the crepe myrtle tree,
A routine autumnal yard task,
Look up to a partly cloudy Texas sky,
Think of madmen and bombs,
A madman and eleven shot dead
As they prayed in Shabbat—
No words, no words come
Even the birds fall silent.
A profound poem and I love the ending. It is so true that even the birds fall silent.
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Thank you!
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