Poem: Culture

When the only tool you have is a hammer,
The whole world is a nail.
An ongoing sickness,
Hard to prevail.
Blinders on a horse,
Its beautiful mane,
Woven tightly into a shining braid.
A different hat,
Or tool for the trade.
Bound by culture,
No one's insane.

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Author: D Nash

Family. Fly fishing. Music.

3 thoughts on “Poem: Culture”

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