A Lament

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.

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