Poem of Day 18 (in memory of Gil-Ad Shaer, Eyal Yifrach, and Naftali Frankel, Z’L)
Shards of salty tears belie the sound of whistled anger. Movement of the natural in lingering trees and broken stares. Children are not. We bask
Shards of salty tears belie the sound of whistled anger. Movement of the natural in lingering trees and broken stares. Children are not. We bask