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A phenomenological flash poem by Melva Steinberg Once, When we were young The full moon floated over the mountain peaks for days Rainbows arched the sky for as long as we desired Even the summer rain came to unite with our tears Now, We see a world filled with war and pestilence The clouds won't bring rain, no matter how loud we cry Each day, we make our pact with peace But the killing goes on What would Husserl say now? Copyright 2024. All rights reserved.
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