Searching for peace, the speaker tries one hiding place after another — a cave, a rainbow’s shimmering edge, a royal flower — only to meet hollow winds, scattering clouds, and hidden decay. Each hopeful stop leaves him empty-handed and a little more weary. His longing feels both urgent and personal, as if he’s chasing something that keeps slipping away.
Finally, an old man tells him a story: a Prince once lived peacefully in Salem, was killed by enemies, and from his grave grew twelve stalks of grain. That grain, made into bread, now carries a quiet, renewing power that banishes sin and restores rest. The mood shifts from restless seeking to a gentle, rooted calm. Peace, the poem says, isn’t tucked away in beautiful surfaces or secret corners — it’s offered in the simple, sacramental act of breaking bread, grown from a sacrifice.