Sonnet no. 4
Nature and War
Soft morning sun shines through moist droplets clear
now radiating coloured prisms bright.
The almost silent brook it trickles near
as Autumn leaves float to the ground so light.
While pristine beauty now is all abound,
though some short years ago this was not so.
There were no flowers growing from the ground
the trickling gentle brook had ceased to flow.
With soldiers corpses rotting in the mud.
No fields of green, or pollen on the breeze,
just craters with the deads’ own flowing blood
that soak the roots of what were once grand trees.
When fighting’s done, then nature plies her trade,
as once again she comes to mankind’s aide.
David J Delaney