From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in spring

From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in spring.
The place where we are right, is hard and trampled like a yard.
But the doubts and loves dig up the world – like a mole – a plough.
And a whisper will be heard in the place where the ruined house once stood.

by Yehuda Amichai

Thanks to Laurence D’Marco of Senscot who describes Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai as a compassionate humanist in a country driven mad by religion.