War

Eight line poem

The waste land will be no more
When the soft rain comes
‘Twill bring forth life as it was before the war
A time when there were no guns or the sound of beating drums.

When children will not need to cower from loud artillery
Hands clasped tightly over innocent ears.
Waiting, praying for the possibility
Once more a lullaby, perhaps a fairy song they will hear.

Prompts: “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot

"A Fairy Song" by William Shakespeare

“There Will Comeb Soft Rain” by Sara Teasdale