There are a few, here and there,
Sprinkled or folded in This country, county, A fire wrapped in skin, Volcanoes rise, Pyroclastic rivers flow, And still these souls appear Immense and slow, But they are filled With ideal good That rages threatens Their neighborhood, Such forests are bursting Within them, bristlecone Pines, foaming streams, Cougars, glistening limestone, Day to day speaks, crow And whippoorwill. And they do God’s will: The firebell and the daffodil.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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