To The Children
I strolled upon a sunless day,
The air was cold, the sky was gray,
And there among the golden hay
I saw two children laugh and play.
I smiled upon a cloudless morn,
When I saw my first child born,
His face was tired and forlorn,
As from the vacuum he was torn.
I sighed upon a moonless night,
While images came into sight,
Explaining to me pain and plight,
And all the reasons we must fight.
I cried upon some afternoon,
The weather hot like May or June,
My second child, not immune,
Was stricken ill, her ashes strewn.
I cried and cried like monsoon rains,
My bitter tears spilled on the grains,
Penetrating through the plains,
Drowning out those dry domains.
O children born unto the skies,
Raise up your teary, cheer-filled eyes,
And gaze upon the bright sunrise—
Your frightening future! Your demise!
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