“

From the place where we are right/Flowers will never grow/In the spring.

The place where we are right/Is hard and trampled/Like a yard.

But doubts and loves/Dig up the world/Like a mole, a plow/And a whisper will be heard in the place/Where the ruined/House once stood.

 

” - Yehuda Amichai

Specific phobias