Are We Not Holly,

in the beginning

pliant and supple,

soft eager sprigs,

yellow-green in morning sun,

innocent counterfeits

of what we are

destined to become,

hardening through

the passing seasons

into pointed shields,

daggered dark green

medallions of shiny isolation,

garnished with red jewels

casting an illusion of elegance

over our stiff battalions

standing at attention

and ready for war?

This lament seems appropriate as today we are watching adults in our politicized pandemic-stressed environment lash out at one another in fits of anger. And to think these people who now despise each other across whatever aisle might very well have once played with one another on a playground somewhere, sharing toys, laughing, oblivious to differences that would one day matter so much.