By Galen Leonhardy

Sun rising in the Middle East,
Crisp morning in the Heartland,
Late-winter chill,
Birds dot the sky,
Fly by,
And sing from trees.

Bomb

Some fall to their knees.

Bomb

Waves of long dark hair
Rise and fall,
Signals of running
And the joy
We share
With daughters
When they play
At sending
Smiles
To us
From afar.

Bomb

Some still have scars.

Giggles as she runs
In the morning sun,
And, through the songs of birds,

She hears

Bomb

Her mother’s voice.

And laughing
And smiling
And holding
Something dear
Near,

She stumbles,
Lifts from the ground,
And flies.