This poem was written on 28 March 2003
From sleep abundant flora is emerging
As the flail of firebombs rain down.
The sap of the grass is rising
Amid the razing of the ground.
The cooing doves have flown away,
Silenced by the aircraft’s drones.
No heads of pastel tints gently sway
As orange and yellow flames engulf homes.
The welcome whispers cease to inspire
And replaced is friendly debate
By the shrill exchange of gun fire
Urged on by men’s cold shouts of hate.
Expectant cornfields stay barren
For labourers have laid low.
A depth of dirt is claimed by men
As mounds mark the corpse below.
It is the time when conspire to war,
Oblivious to Spring’s new birth.
In virgin groves, grain is not poured;
Instead, blood is spilled on the earth.
Joy and jubilance cease to appear,
And dancers are not reeling.
Angels of Death, Destruction and Despair
Are revealed as the grotesque heralds of Spring.
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