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by Dahl Clark
October 22, 1998

I saw in a dream a single blade of grass
Atop a hill of frozen snow
Where had all the flowers gone? Alas!
Where did the others go?

It had been many a winter, many a year
Before any man set foot upon this field
Where many a man fell down to yield
His being to the earth.

And far was the field, set wide in girth
Once the home of fellowship, merriment, mirth
But now a sea of forgotten birth.
The sun had shone down, each day had passed by
Another man had risen to fight and die
Another child bent knee with mother to cry.

Our primal nature is to fight and spar
To quarrel and bicker, to argue, wage war
Then afterwards, to sit down and reconcile
Six hundred million odd lives lost for peace for a while
To have the cycle repeat again.
When will we learn from where we have been?
Perhaps never.

The blanket of snow enshrouds the earth
The geese neither fly, nor do the dolphins swim
Or life continue to thrive where it is worth
Because the bubbles of war had risen to the rim
And had spilled over, falling projectiles, onto all below.
Now no longer will any life grow
As we know it; lest radiating it be
And immune to the box of a modern Pandora.
This is the scene of the future, you see
This destiny of mankind knocks now at our door
Do we choose to open it if choose we must?
Or can we be able to ourselves trust
To open a different door together?

It is not too important whether
We live or die in the end
But for us to continue and persever
And with our neighbor make amends
So that a single life will never
Be lost by another man again.
For if we wish to see tomorrow
We must start by seeing today
Or, meant in another way,
We must see ourselves as Mankind
and not mere chickens trapped at bay.

I see that single blade of grass
Clearly, atop a hill of frozen snow
And roll over in bed, awake with a start
And fail to keep this message at heart
For it is another fine, wonderful day.
I log on to the Web or turn on the TV
And before my very eyes I see
Another mass grave uncovered overseas
Serial killers and murderers-to-be,
A young life gone because of one shot
A life born one moment, the next it is not
And the world going round, as content as can be
And me round with it, before the TV.