Are borders evil? do they put asunder
what’s meant to be one planet-wrapping space
in which a placid homo faber race
could thrive as Mother Nature’s matchless wonder?
Yet here’s the rub: a craftsman needs his guild;
a peasant, mate; a thinker, kindred spirit —
to circumscribe the area of merit,
be it an earthly or celestial field.
One lea is green, another one is parched.
Birds of a feather flout telluric order,
and, scurrying along a blade of grass,
a praying mantis finds an underpass:
to amplify the presence of a border
the limit setting line is often arched.