The USSR—three S’s,
one R, not Russia’s—
laundry hung outside,
none thought to steal
or soil, like many
our hearts.
All knew their street,
their block, gave salt
or thought when asked—
On a packed bus,
when you saw
a veteran—woman
or man—from
that Sacred War,
coming through
the door, all
rose, gave respect,
seat, heart-felt smile.
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