Beirut, Manara – for Dorothy

B

Now my mind hears the tread
Of other feet on the steps
That take you down to the sea;
And there are other voices
Of children, rising up
playfully
From the long room.

What has been
Cannot be repeated
Neither can it be removed;
It remains in the heart’s
Secret place,
Awaiting that quickening
Touch of love
Which will make all things new.

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A.J. Amos
A.J. Amos

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