Accurate embroidery

Dalya Rabikovitz

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Let me kiss you, my son, the man

With the green of the fields, the sky of light

Your body is still unwashed from the filth and blood

However your heart is beating clean and pure

 

Let me throw you up and down

And to all four winds I will tell of your birth

Spikes will sprout in the open air, and it is day

And hurrah the reapers will saw from your heart