A white chaliced tulip, orange- crowned daffodils butter and honey cupped, the perfume of narcissus petal fanned, these are vowels in God's own language. In such sounds love tenders itself to nearly a million refugees, the children, and echoes back among the rocks and camouflage as a voice asking, What have you done? A lone cellist's bow gently drawn on and over a world's heart still sings a song with no clash, no consonants.
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