The Children of War are like little flowers trampled,
Young and innocent, fragile and helpless,
Surrounded by violence and rampant destruction-
Their faces are filled with doubts and fear.
...
When I pray the Rosary, I crown the Blessed Virgin's head
With delicate impeccable heavenly roses,
Wiping away the tears of sorrow she wept at the foot of the cross.
...
A visitor to a wintry marsh, surrounded by a tundra-like
Desolate landscape of whites and grays feels an ineffable sadness from deep within --
Longing with an aching heart for the recently past season of warmth.
...