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Orchard Dreams
by Deborah Russell

they are waiting
for the call of doves
to bring them home
spring will come
but will not stay
they grieve for villages
seek a homeland
beside olive groves
(beside green pastures)
scenes disappear
before their eyes...
tree by tree, 
limb by limb
will fall away...
they wander through
a barren landscape
with baskets of orchard dreams
seasons, children and paradise
are foreign to the madness
in the desert, arid, dust
they plant infant bones
rebuild the past,
stone by stone
women with empty arms
and swollen breasts

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