by: Silverwind
In a great field of sorrows and struggle and woe,
In a land to which Chaos is mother,
Where hundreds of brambled and thornèd things grow,
And fight and destroy one another,
There stands but one flower of Peace, all alone;
A thing delicate, lovely, and bright,
A fair tender thing that's miraculously grown
Amidst hatred and darkness and blight.
And he dreams of a meadow of beauty and peace,
Where grow colorful flowers like him all around,
A haven where joy and delights never cease,
Where not one single thorn may e'er be found.
And he looks on his brothers and sisters impure,
And he weeps for the shame of his plight.
Dewdrops of tears fall from petals demure,
As he wishes in vain to know warm loving light.
Page created by: Jilli
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