The hymn reasonated with the breeze.
“We shall over co—o—me .”
A beaten man stood up. Beaten on the inside and out.
“We shall overrun…”
The breeze was now a bowl, a mixing pot of hot and cold.
A pause in the hymn.
The first party was hushed in the anger of the second.
“We shall overrun…”
King stared into the crowd, eyes reflecting what ears rejected.
“We shall overrun, today……”
Kings mouth inverted what his eyes reflected.
“We shall over co—o—me. We shall over co—o—me.”
The breeze wept in his futile attempt. The second party retaliated.
“We shall over—ruu—n. We shall over—ruu—n.”
“We shall over co—o—me. We shall over co—o—me.”
The breeze howled. Words rose and sank together.
“We shall overcome…overrun…some daaay.”
Both sides wept. Both parties fought.
They could only take so much.
They could only fight so much.
At last, Overcome overcame.
Deep in their heart, they still believed.
And the second party was silent.
And the breeze said Well Done.