This May Afternoon*

Lilacs bloom to their own tune,

it means that spring has not been ruined.

A war is raged against our will,

the cost is priceless, endless ills.

I think of You and how you serve,

of this our country's leaders herd--

their tunes of war they roll their drums,

yet Tolstoy's  "War and Peace", not done.

It takes a Village with a voice,

to ring out truth, explain the cost--

of weapons far and weapons near

the cost computes they do not hear.

My village is the globe, it's heart

I hear it's cry, I see it's spark

I know it's truth, I know not all

I only know that war is wrong.