Nancy L. Meek


Then morning brings the guns once more
And the old folk wake to bolt their door
And the children cower beneath their bed
For fear that evening will find them dead.
By the frozen brook, wild ducks in fright
Fly away as proud men fight.
The White Owl seems to ignore it all
His eyelids shut as brave men fall.
The fog lifts and the sun beams through
And the tarmac, thawed, comes into view.
The spider’s web, weaved by night,
Splits apart as planes take flight
As the war yawns and spreads its wings
Ignoring far less important things.