Many years ago, they said,
Pieces were jammed to form a whole;
A forgery of one piece.
Three clothes torn into many pieces
Were sown as one to be worn by peace.
The cloth was sown, but did we find peace to wear it?
The bent nail was hit on the head
It went into the woods;
Three woods apart
Now has become one, so they said
Let us sit on it; we sat
Let us jump on it; we jumped
Let us set it in a hall to be used
For a greater course but then we saw
The nail has gone out of the wood
Breaking out through the clutched edges;
Tell me, when will we find peace?
The road is rough, the feet hurts
The rose is fine but the thorns pierces
The eyes that will see the night may not
See the day
But the day will surely come
And some eyes will see the sun shine on them
He that cooked a meal
May not taste the meal
But someone will in time take it within;
We may not see it
I may not see it
But right here I foresee it;
Peace will come home to roost.
I am Mide Benedict Word weaver at Temple of Words
Happy Independence Day