Could I write wonders and the world approve,
I couldn't puzzle whole one thrush-pecked shell,
unpounce one cat-clawed sparrow with my love
of words that love each other far too well,
not one dark drone recall nor bomb nor shell
unpress buttons nor sorrow's sob disprove,
unraze a city, untoll a death-knell
where tragedy strikes blindly from above.
If words would cure the darkness of the heart
mend broken histories, reconcile hate,
from frenzied conflicts take the bitter heat,
then let their wise ambassadors so start,
where power lies for change - in every street!
Too late! Too late! Yet never is too late.
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Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
