I met two roses from Syria
sprung right out of Arabia
and seeded on Hollandia.
There's too much hate for potentates
too much is pending on their fates
you can't deny the crying
the fears spread red tears
from all of those
who are still dying.
Hear the beloved country
cry
you cannot talk
or freely walk about
there eyes are spying
everywhere.
I cannot think of anything
more justifying
then frying them out
-finally stop the lying-
and make the people proud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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