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January 22, 2003
The Iranian

I have held so much faith:
watered daily the roots of love
when every leaf of this tree was blasted
by freezing winds, every branch twisted by lies.
Too much salt I poured into the soil;
but nature is forgiving.
I know this. Head and heart, I know
that nature gives, forgives,
and blesses faith.
Spring returns because it will,
not begged, but built
on star's pull, on earth's tilt,
on leafmold's rotting pages.
Faith, have I not turned these sad, dead leaves?
So now when sweet sap learns again to rise,
when blossoms peel, unfold and glow,
and love with time grows wise,
why, my faith, my shy one,
do I feel so much surprise?

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