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On a road between Bethany and the Mount of Olives

By Doris Peel / December 6, 1982



''Peace (she used to tell us) isn't really got.'' Not snared by strategies, or won outrightly as a battle's won. Not even whistled up with a song sweetly aping its own shy song. O peace must come as if drawn, drawn from the depths of a grove all hushed and dim: to where - in a heart made fit for it - ''Perhaps, who knows, your heart (she'd say) only taught, humbled, even broken a bit - '' like a bird it will nest. And there remain as the thunders crash as the great winds rage or as a child, barefoot in dust, stops short - with a stone in his lifted fist - "I didn't know it was you!'' he says. ''Ah, but I knew you, Faiz.''

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