| Yes, you are my child, even if you are my elder. You were born out of great hope, yet of immeasurable sorrow. When you were born, your idealism was unmatched, as was your courage. When you were young, some of your new towns, there next to the sea, were without the basic element of water. Sand, hamsin, and snakes were everywhere. The children, then, knew no fear. You were too young to grasp the hatreds that would accompany you for the next sixty years. Today, those very hatreds have spied and delighted in your fading idealism. Today, your children can be cruel, or so some say, but mostly, they are scared. They can still fight the battles and win the wars, but their hearts need mending. You are no longer young, more like middle aged, with all the blemishes of your age, but yet, even today, the hamsin blows from the desert and in springtime the rose of sharon blooms once again. |
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