Where The Roses Grow Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

We walk out from the cellar door,
To count the steps across the floor.
The roof is gone, the walls are low,
But this is where the roses grow.

With calloused hands and heavy hearts,
The long and patient mending starts.
We share a brick, we share a flame,
And speak each long-forgotten name.

The leaders spoke and signed the page,
To lock the tiger in its cage.
But peace is built by common hands,
Replanting hope across the lands.

It is not swift, it is not grand,
Just clearing stone from fertile land.
A hammer's strike, a mortar's bind,
To leave the heavy dark behind.