Walls I was born in a country of thrown stones And spent my days retreating into exotic lands Of imagination Or else hiding behind walls Of forced wit and nervous laughter Listening to the pitter-patter of pebbles Against my stronghold. I eventually fled that land And wandered in poverty Until I found a realm Where my fortune in strange coin Would be accepted. Still I built walls -- Until I noticed that here thrown stones were few And bruises healed easier And the view, fresh air, and sunshine Were more than worth sweeping up An occasional broken window. No more walls? But I am by nature a builder, Scheduled for frequent deliveries Of lumber, nails, bricks, and mortar: All the materials for building walls. No more walls? No more walls. But the materials for building walls Can also be used To build bridges. Thomas G. Digby written 0315 hr 3/05/77 typed 0410 hr 5/22/77 entered 2210 hr 4/12/92