Kosovo, 1999: Flowers have gone to children, every one

I forced did make the mountains a hard home for my children slender

I forced on them such leaves and twigs

As giving water who would listen

Nettles not, crocus few

We have put lips

To the fern’s heart

Crossed and uprooted

We prayed for honeysuckle

A want unbooted

I have visited upon these my children slender

False feasts of frail flowers

I have applied upon their crackling lips

Poultice from nearby peat

Flowers have gone to children,

Every one