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soul of fine art

Neighbors

Looking out my window
I see a boy of five or six
Picking up some sticks
Near the garden.

He chooses a big and heavy one.
Then, as his mother is busy
Yacking on her cell phone, the boy starts
Beating at the beautiful
Flowers who are just
Opening their buds.

They say, don’t pull or strike at us.
Let us grow tall.

Look inside and see.
We’re blooming.

Treat us gently or our hearts will break.
If we fall we will die.

We’re here to make the world
Beautiful.

We are also God’s children.

Teach your children not
To abuse us with sticks or
Stones.

We are neighbors.

In the end we have
The same address.»

 

Adele, 2000

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