by Sarah Earlene Shere, ©2023
(Jul. 29, 2023) — All around the grownups gazed upon their town in rubble,
No more churches, schools or parks, and all the fields were stubble.
But with the smoking embers rose a sound upon the breeze,
It wafted to the people’s ears and danced among the trees.
‘Twas the laughter of the tykes, with hands up to the skies,
Declaring that the white debris was really butterflies.
From scorched bindings leaflets flew, in pieces undefined,
Then spoke the voice of an old man whose bedimmed eyes were kind.
“They’re right, you know. We can rebuild, and write again we must.
But let us only write of love, of faith, of hope and trust.”
So thus the scribes each set to work, declaring of things good.
And soon the village was reborn, and prosperous with food:
Food for the soul, body, mind, for health in every way.
And all of this came about from children hard at play.