In trees that spread against the evening skies

            their stark and naked graceful branches,

            In mastered fear, still showing ‘neath the eyes

            of those who scorn to run as doom approaches,

            In stars that fling across the midnight heavens

            the shattered remnants of some ancient gem,

            In whispered promise, broken and forgiven

            I find the soul of you, and (dare I?) them.

            Beneath the strictures of our age-old spites

            so deeply hid they scar our very bones,

            Behind the curtained terror that guards our gates

            and shivers in its cheerless bed of stones

            our children cry. And beg for milk and bread.

            And will we give them sugared hate instead?