in the dense undergrowth of the forest floor in the woods
where nobody thought something soft could survive
lay the rarest of all, lay the beginning of the no-more-war
with the lift of the palm tree leaf and the sweep away of the moss and ferns
where no sad person ever had the energy to look
unfurled the angel wing and with it
brought the sound of female voices dipped in nectar dew
the wing feathers lifted the grief
onto rocking chairs with rythms that gift relief
the love of yesteryear entwined the loss of the ever near
and dismantled the ever present fear
to ensure we enjoy the now and the very much here
in the dense undergrowth of the forest floor
we now lie with our arms entwined awaiting the instore
and our lips forming the soothing sounds
of the lullabys of better man and womankind
and our arms now otherwise engaged
refuse to take up more weapons and refuse to fight
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