(poems go here) My neck strains in ample disposition
Your clever attempt to persuade me
I reckon you have imagination
Like the lord who has not been said in vain
My lord is my own; your lord is your own
I have no binds we are not together
But through thick and thin my skin rips clear and clever
I am not consumed but awoken
From the screams and cries of Palestine
Young orchard grows thick fruits berries never real
Enough to touch and to smell the fragrance
Enough to see and breathe the bitterness
The taste so sweet yet un-calming
Clams shatter from the footsteps on the sand
They have conquered our land.