Longleat
[7.8.06]
© Liora Sara Bernstein
For months on end
She sat and watched
Each day the people
Faraway.
Glaciers were thawing
Beyond the seas,
But they were maintaining
Their own paradise.
[Was not God a gardener
in the beginning ?]
During the hot months
Of the Intifada summers,
When hatred swirled around
Her Jewish Reservation,
Penetrating her heart
Like screws and bolts of iron,
The old woman
Watched those gentle people
Through the square window
Of vibrations
And loved them.
There was no one else worthy.
And she tried to remember
Their names.
`One day I will visit Longleat,`
She promised herself,
Something to look forward to.
In the Elizabethan house
In the green groves
On the gravel paths,
I will truly walk
And bless the animals,
Like a mother Theresa
...
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