Over the quivering surface of the stream,
The moon issued a silent scream.
The fog of war flowed silently adrift,
The pain of the night was silent and swift.
A moth fluttered in the silent breeze,
Surrounded by the scent of death and disease.
And yet it seemed it hadn’t a care,
About the senseless slaughter of others
who did not quite as well fare.
But as dawn began to appear,
Away went the pain, the despair, the fear.
The silence of a new day,
Seemed to deafen what had come to stay.
Even when there is the darkness of the cloud,
There is still light all around.
