"Oh, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive,”
My mother used to say, and now
I see how tangled our country has become
In this winter of such discontent
And long to be — or even see—
Some light spot amid the branches
Which might be truth,
Launching itself into the fray
And driving home the need to find
A way to reach through, and reach out
To one another, spreading hope
To grow like leaves,
Uniting branches in the spring
Into a single tree again.
