The two pigeon eggs, in the flower pot, on the terrace
hatched, but they only lived a few hours, the mother
pigeon was too scared, by us in the flat, to look after
them and it was Palm Sunday; about the same time as
as war planes terrorized Tripoli.
The compound of the great dictator was also bombed,
but he wasn´t there. A couple of his servants were and
they were killed; a price worth paying for those who
polished the tyrant´s boots? Ah, intoxicating smell of
war. Target bombing, headlines screamed.
