Peace takes its daily pilgrimage

To the temples of tottering hours

And often the sewage of sorrow so

Dark, there is no door out of it till

Peace finds a hole into the horror

Of harm and sits down to ponder

And begins to scratch at the stony

Wall or the window of worries to

Let in a small ray of radiance and the

Baby Rose that deals with the rot

& ruckus of despair, with silence