A common path along the
shore of an unnamed lake guides you
over entrenched roots and persistent brush,
the daily webs strung discreetly

The hills of Eastern Bosnia lie dormant
craggy rocks and spent shrapnel under the snow
Lily of the Valley dormant, hibernates with the bears
awaiting the cold to retreat

Tall, arching entrance, centuries old
a masterpiece of the human hand
rubbed oils and rich mahogany
reflecting the afternoon sun

Crusaders riding east pass this way, an
unknown pursuer nears, the cathedral offers
shelter, fortification until the threat passes
on this day, no blood is shed

Each Sunday they arrive with an offering,
a prayer and hope the cathedral doors
will protect their children, born in the midst
of a senseless war

The arches span with wings of an albatross
at the apex where they meet, a green ankh
signals the peace that has settled over the hills
an unnamed lake with calm waters rests near