A
land is built by virtuous seeds,
Where
saints who not bargain, breed;
But
where surrogates of merchants teach,
Life of such Land mere few hundred reach.
A
saint isn’t restrict its work to feed,
Who
mate or create to pacify need;
Ain’t
short sighted like synthetic greet,
Entrenched
efficacy, be it deprived or elite.
Not
that there’re classics in feet,
Or
hung in galleries shades on sheets;
Nor
pleasing flesh to dine a treat,
Never
sailed any storm with hundred fleet.
Nations
align to build their creed,
How
long? Until that turns to heat!
When
saints are unreal & compete,
Trust
& glories, not such be dreamed. 😊