IN ECHOED MEAN SORROWS TO HER
(A Tanka Duet)
Peace rang the doorbell:
“Sorry, you’re at the wrong door.”
“We only do wars:-”
At the next door, she heard:
“Sorry, we’ve no vacancies.”
Moving on, peace heard,
“Your sorry butt got some nerves!”
“Get the hell away!”
In sorrow, Peace keeps belling;
Hoping one day, its God’s door:-