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We are the People of the Book,
The written page is our salvation;
This only from the wreck we took
When conquerors crushed our nation.
The Holy Book has been our land,
Our seed, our sowing and our reaping.
How can the stranger understand
What treasure we are keeping!
In shame and poverty we read
The precious page of revelation,
And water with our tears the seed
That recreates our nation.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.