I heard a rooster
crow three times
and thought, “Who’s been betrayed?”

It kept on, though,
much after three,
as if to voice the pain.

A 21-gun salute repeat
to dead cousins in the earth;

Beneath its little rooster feet
lay what a state is worth.

© 3/16/02, Lois E. Olena (Written in a friend's livingroom on the mountainside of Mount Carmel, listening to the noises through an open balcony door from down below, where a Bedouin family keeps cows, sheep, and, apparently, roosters.)

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