This nation is a field of fire,
whose breadth, measured,
its mountains folding in
like wound around a sword;
a voice of thunder falls upon
this city, whose ears, deafened,
distracted by the crashing shores
becomes a woman in the desert
calmly praying for the dead.
Gather up the whitest wool,
prepare the clouds and earth,
for all that has been shattered,
broken- will witness birth.
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