Say folks in the high hills north-east:
Those who hoard will die, but who share
Will live. Some code works well when held.
It’s there, but it’s not there. It’s part.
Can a team work well for all souls
And not be wiped out, and not go
To war with the rest of the world?
The thoughts that work well for some souls
Could they work for the rest of us?
The sweet calm, the trust that fears not
To help the hurt or take the gift,
The love that wraps its arms, the soft
Eyes that say, Your deal is my deal,
And if we can’t all live—must all
Die—we can still stay kind—those thoughts,
Could they come for good and not slip
Off in the night, gone by first light?
They would be good for us, such thoughts,
But could they hold out, could they last
When the storms of words raised by want
Hurled the tides to gouge those high hills?
Don’t hoard this. Share your fears. The best,
Sweet words for us speed their own death.
