Sticks and stones might break some bones,
but they also build a village.
Mud and straw, they make the daub
to keep the hut from spoilage.
Empty hands can lift the beams,
tired feet can stamp the floor,
hope and laughter patch the roof
and lanterns light the door.
Lonely hearts may gather round
when chimney smoke is curling—
It only takes one shelter raised
to set a whole world turning.
So pick up sticks, and gather stones,
and do not mind the weather—
For villages are made by those
who build, and dream, together.
Monsters Roar and minions claw,
The Village gives us safety.
With open hands and Open Hearts
More can join the family.
Some to sew and some to plant.
Potters, Smiths and cooks.
Everyone has their jobs.
And that's what makes this work.
Some will teach and some will sing,
Some will mend the broken.
All are welcome by the fire
Where kindness is the token.
Sticks and stones, and mud and dreams—
The village built by many,
Holds strong against the storm outside,
With hope enough for any.
Some mend socks and some bake bread,
Some keep watch at night.
Others gather firewood,
Or lift lanterns, shining bright.
Give the thing that you can give—
No gift or skill too small.
For in a village built by many,
There’s purpose here for all.
So gather near, both old and new,
And let the hearthlight show:
A village grows with every hand—
And brighter, we will glow.
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