A Palestinian girl, perhaps
seven or eight, is mourning
her murdered father
this morning in Gaza,
one of many;
she is mourning,
and he is dead,
will never again
say her name
and make her
brush her teeth,
will never again
tell her a bedtime
story; this
will be her
bedtime story
for the rest
of her life,
her, seven or eight
years old, mourning
her murdered father
in a hospital corridor
filled with mourners
and the dead.
29.03.2025
#Lyrics #Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse Lyrics Poem Poems Poetry Verse
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti