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Veiled women squat beside bomb craters
suckling new life.
Since time out of mind, hope in women's breasts
no less a miracle than mother's milk.
Far away, roses in my garden give up their heady
fragrance to the air.
I bend & tip my face, caress the crimson velvet petals,
inhale their joyful wisdom.

Phaedra Savage
Oct 21, '01