Flat land that stretches as far as the eye can see,
green like emeralds,
green like emeralds,
the horizon pinpricked by palms.
A people that live in the shadow of a
history of violent and turmoil, yet
a people that do not hold
the scars of their forefathers.
A people that do not choose
the agony of the past.
They instead have carved their
own identities, their own realities,
they do not live in ignorance
still they do not live in grief.
Their wartorn and tarnished soil
has been restored,
no longer bruised and bloodied,
but whole and unmarred.
The Spirit, like a fresh wind, has swept through
this country, repairing wounds,
softening hearts, soothing dreams,
and filling lungs with melodies of joy.
Fields of despair turned to fields of hope,
fields of killing turned to fields of dragonflies.
