The infinite sky
Providing shelters whites as snow
Like true companions with clip hands
As mightier than the breaking waves
Even in old age, you thrive with fresh dew
And send down the myrrh
Majestic in heights
To still the brim stones with chills,
Greasing the orchards in flowering bulbs,
Do not babble in your string guitars
That I may pay head to your tambourines
But leave on and see
Your goodness in Lebanon
Were suckling’s feed from different breed
You spread the fog to screen them off
With pillars of fire to guard the night
And to protect the weaklings
In a den of death, were
My thinking expires,
So as to rise in the morning and
The infinite sky!


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