No longer can I meet myself with honest recognition and no longer do I greet myself with a softness or affection.
As frail as autumn leaves These moldered reckless ruins Were scarred, Marred by mounting grief.
I try to keep you at bay I stay busy throughout the day It seems to work Until the night comes its way
By the time the sun rose to its zenith, the nation had filled the box with all its tears, dreams, fears, and hurts. Then it smoothed its outer veneer with forgiveness' sandpaper removing differences' rough edges and grudges' sharp edges.