A
War Ran Though It
Put away your flowered dress,
Your ribbons and pretty bows.
Stand with me at this address
That the rising sun will show.
Make with me a sacred ward
Given for this hour,
To help us live without the sword
And the dying of the flower.
Take from me this rich bouquet
From where our love is found,
A quiet love no words can say,
From heaven’s holy ground.
Wait with me till this great storm,
Whose red skies yet may pass.
A storm that takes a vengeful form,
That shatters all the glass.
And if it pass, we’ll walk a while
‘Mid gardens to the sea.
We’ll whisper things that make us smile
Before what’s yet to be.
And if the sun rise, gold and clear,
While seabirds wing their way,
And fruit trees blossom, far and near,
In answer to the day
Then you and I, our children, all
Will dance upon that hour.
We’ll dance in thanks for nature’s call,
For the giving of this bower.
…
But wait! I hear the rumbling peal
Of distant, furied thunder.
And whether cloud or heated steel
We’ll have to wait and wonder.
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