Men go to women mutely for their peace; <br />And they, who lack it most, create it when <br />They make–because they must, loving their men– <br />A solace for sad bosom-bended heads. There <br />Is all the meager peace men get–no otherwhere; <br />No mountain space, no tree with placid leaves, <br />Or heavy gloom beneath a young girl's hair, <br />No sound of valley bell on autumn air, <br />Or room made home with doves along the eves, <br />Ever holds peace like this, poured by poor women <br />Out of their heart's poverty, for worn men.<br /><br />Genevieve Taggard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/everyday-alchemy/
