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
