Image: Hans Splinter: Pilgrims : Alfen, South Holland, Netherlands | (CC BY-ND 2.0)

Natural order

Wounds and scars here made
By pilgrims who preyed
’Pon this land stand still,
’Til, ’twixt light and shade,
All such with time fade
— Truly, naught else heals
Surely as pure wheel
Of days — the loose threads
Which bear such false seals
Gathered ’pon the reel
Of hours, years, decades
In review: parade
With full redress filled
— With order instead
Of confused charade —
All plastic, e’en steel,
Dust — ground ’neath turned heel
Ere time rolls ahead
To its roots — ordeals
Routed, woe turned weal
— All sights of the dead —
Sterile deeds, great deals —
Absorbed, shredded, shed —
All grist to its mill
— Yielding seed where laid
All that was — and will —