Olive Groves and Windchimes

On April seventh there'll be an anniversary. Not one in which we celebrate with balloons or confetti... sweet cakes, songs or garish parades. It will be 6 serrated months, since terrorist raped Mother Israel. Sprayed the olive groves with her blood. Six months since they raked a couple hundred innocents... to cover yellow flanks-to prolong their fun. Six months the innocents have spent underground with-in the tunnels of cowards. Nobody talks about them anymore. one by one there being dropped like sparks from a broken tailpipe While the media bunny hops away,,, onto the next horror. Their names and smiling faces have melted off our back pages. Into Dali's clocks into the final note of a broken windchime memory.