On a path across the wasteland 
Peace and Love met long-lost sibling Rage
and there, beneath a dying tree, 
wild and withered amongst the litter and the smoke
they fell into each other's arms, and wept: 
slow silent tears on the face of Peace; 
Love's trembling bitter sighs; 
while Rage's fists beat their breast and claw their hair,
their hollow cries dead in the filthy air. 
And as they sat with devastation
beside the blasted oak 
Grief crept from where she had been hid 
in Rage's cloak 
and held their hands in hers
while pain bubbled. 
Then, when they had wept their fill 
Grief moved and stood, 
caressed the grimy bark, 
and cupped a tiny creature in her hard worn hands, 
a damaged thing with ragged wings,
bedraggled fur. 
Grief blew a gentle warming breath.
Peace, a breath.
Love, a breath.
Rage, controlled, a breath.
and siblings four bent all their thoughts, 
their imagination, all their being 
poured out upon the feeble beast; 
and stirred those faded wings, 
disturbed the dust, 
revealed a gleam of gold. 
Then breath of siblings, strengthened, 
stirred the litter by the track: 
a plastic bottle shifted, rolled, 
then tumbled clattering away. 
The old tree's branches came to life, 
the gathered wind in gutsy gusts 
swept out the smoke 
and blasted off the grime; 
roared out across the wasteland. 
And there, soft in Grief's soft hand,
a ray of sunlight caught the wings 
and sparked a rainbow.