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She has a sign on her wall, much like The Writing on Wall saying (as she’s praying): This too shall pass
Tu B'Shevat
With every breath, with every taste, with all my senses, gratitude I have and give thanks as I discover miracles waiting for me this morning. I laugh with glee as I find Your babies in Your magical garden that I tend.
Candles burning in the storm, flickering lights, no path do they form. Sounds of thunder that echo the night, shattering the silence, creating fright.
I no longer see A table, a chair, a lamp . . . Only letters do I see
Poetry
A Personal Odyssey
Enslaved, Caged, Imprisoned, A people bound to their G-d, Frightened, anxious, laboring oppression Beaten, diminished, dehumanized, degraded; Daring diversity, dis-similar from the lot…
She strikes the match, Her concentration as intense as the flame. As the candle wicks flare Her heart fills with joy.
The sun burns down, On the old lazy town. The flowers have bloomed,
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