Wave upon wave of anger
Washing over hurt new and old
It was not done until the end
When nothing remained but
Scorched earth. This was where
New things were meant to grow
And they did - a wild exuberant
Garden. Looking back there was
Another way, another path.
Thought of you yet another time
Like many others - not for me
But for ours. Like all other times
There is nothing left to seek
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