There can't be peace between the wolf and flock;
There can't be ease between the hawk and hare.
There can't be better fit than key and lock;
There can't be better match than ma and care.

So told them, arrant—we who stand in ruin—
That bargain can't be struck for lash and back,
Or settle not the scores on blood so soon,
Nor hunt the hare and bitten piece-meal sack.

Again we ask—is key and lock our way,
Shall we be hand in hand, within lockstep?
Again we ask—is spear and boar our lay,
Forever, end to end, on side and wept?

So, call for show of hands for shallow deaths,
Or call for show of hands for easy breaths.