In hopes that soon, a light we’ll find,
Where systems work as they’re designed.
Yet here we stand, in silent plea,
For seats at tables meant for twelve, not we.
We ponder, where the seated go,
When more arrive, in this tableau?
Is there room for one, for two, or three?
Or is this table not where we should be?
Our gaze focused on this singular feast,
We forget the forests, not in the least.
Unlimited trees, standing tall and free,
Awaiting our hands, for tables to be.
It takes skill, time, a vision clear,
To turn these trees to tables dear.
Crafted to fit, to hold, to stand,
By our numbers, by our own hand.
Why seek a place, where we must squeeze?
When we can build with greater ease.
Our tables, our spaces, uniquely ours,
Grown from seeds, not borrowed powers.
Let’s not look to those, in comfort’s embrace,
To shift, to move, to make us space.
Injustices, many, have shadowed our sun,
Yet still, we rise, together as one.
Our future, a canvas, vast and wide,
With chances limitless by our side.
To build a world, fair and just,
For those to come, in us, their trust.
So, let us leave the table set for twelve,
And in the forests, our future delve.
With our hands, our hearts, our minds,
A better table, together, we’ll find.
OddyMacfoy 