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Lullaby of Innocence
Quiet my child, do not fret
You're a girl I know,
Though you're not born yet.
Soon you'll come and then will see
All the pretties made by me.
I've embroidered a cover to go on your bed,
That's made of cedar, with a fine carved head.
There is so much to teach you, so much to tell.
Hush little girl, I'm impatient as well.
I can't stop the noise that comes from the south.
It's coming nearer, I know, but must pass on by.
Who's here to fight them, just you and I?
Hush my darling, mother's here.
There's no more noise, there's no more fear.
Look at our orange grove, so pretty from here,
Dark green leaves with flowers so white.
There are the olives so old and bent.
That was our house on the hill over there,
Now it's a crater raw and bare.
How can I tell you why we died?
They wanted our home, we had nowhere to hide.
My poor little baby, not born yet.
Hope I can't give you, life you won't get.
|A mother's nightmare, a narrative poem of a recurring dream I used
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