O Scientist (A Rondeau in Tetrametre)
O Scientist, no more arms invent;
To heal, not harm, your skill is meant.
Old War's ruins await repair;
For new ones wherefore, then, prepare?
Widows' wails and loud laments
Of those whose homes are razed or rent,
The orphaned, maimed, don't make you repent?
From throes of woes your brethren spare,
O Scientist!
Armour, instead of arms, invent,
To even Nature's raids prevent.
Construct a case with cautious care
For housing Peace and all that's fair.
Then will be your time well-spent,
O Scientist!
Oh wonderful appeal by the cry thundering across the lives somewhere on this crust inflicting the legion by the lethal innovations over the rugged silence, gruelling sorrows yet look to the coral reek, wellpenned,10+, thanks for sharing
I enjoyed reading this poem. You are a master of metrical verse.
The theory behind this science is worth repeating... it's also an excellent structured poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Eloquent - and pertinent.