Shattered walls will rise again.
I know this, for you are the builder:
made of a fabric that paint cannot stain,
nor concrete can break, nor wither.
You’ve opened your gates: invitations to stay
and enjoy you, for those that would bother.
Yet guests have delayed, or come in too late,
and most have abused this honour.
You’ve locked yourself in; now your flowers complain
that you don’t need walls for your guarding.
And iron bars will not hold you in.
I know this, for you are the warden.
For the life that you bring,
They forget that you sting.
Note: Dedicated to Benewaa. You are a force to be reckoned with. Anyone who forgets that does so at their own peril.