My ancestors saw the, rising sun and the, first flight of the eagle. My ancestors saw the, planting of the olive branch and, the making of new arrows. Now I have seen the, setting sun and the, last flight of the eagle. Now I have seen the, burning of the olive tree and, the arrows bloodied. A path of unwritten stories, is before us. Leave the ashes behind, forge on ahead. Never forget the lessons, never forget the tragedy, of the symbolic melting pot.