My Last Cedar

Poor Lebanon,
they're so ebullient.
There's too much politics, and too much religion, but not enough miracles, only division. For what? Like worry, usually nothing, or the wrong thing. While the rose that smelled as sweet was there all along, all about you within and without, that humming in your ears and nose. Stardust and knowing stolen moments of laughter that make two one, it goes out and on forever(so I dream);
just like the starlight reaches us.
Now for my poisoned baklava.