The seeds of hope once planted
Have emerged from winter’s tomb,
Yet still,
Surrounded by the vibrant greens of spring,
And the sweet cacophony of birdsong in the air,
We feel the chill of stones unturned,
Of hearts still hardened,
Of age-old grievances that still seek vengeance.
What sacrifice must yet be made?
When will we learn it’s in forgiveness
That we will find salvation?
2 comments:
Bonitas flores.
Thank you for all your kind and thoughtful comments, Luis; I wish you well, wherever you may be.
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