We roll the dough outinto small circlespale moons overevery empty villageKevork is standing on a chairand singingO my Armenian girlmy spirit longs to be nearerNevrig is warming the ovenand a dry desert breezeis skimming over the rooftopstoward the seawe are spreading the lahmaon the ajoun with our fingerswhispering into it the historiesof those who have none
Very nice place
Its good
Nice
Good