A sonnet of healing, verdant beauty, and the "Thousand Hills."
A thousand hills arise to meet the mist,
Where silverbacks move through the bamboo shade,
A land the morning sun has softly kissed,
In every valley where the tea is laid.
The scars of old are mended by the hand
Of brothers building what was once torn down,
A green rebirth across the fertile land,
From Kigali to every rural town.
No more the drum of war, but of the dance,
Where Intore jumpers defy the pull of earth,
A nation taking hold of one more chance,
Small in the map, but in the spirit vast,
The future blooms and heals the bitter past
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