No guns, no bombs nor tanks of steel
can stop creation's flow
the cycle of birth, life and death
as sure as winds must blow
Though fighter planes fill skies above
yet do bright chestnuts bloom
and even when cathedrals fall
new temples challenge doom
The scars of war can't be erased
by wishing them away
a mother grieves for her small babe
who never learned to play
Yet even in destruction's wake
new growth will always strive
to challenge famine, drought and harm
and hope will still survive
No guns, no bombs nor tanks of steel
can stop creation's flow
the cycle of birth, life and death
as sure as winds must blow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Her small babe who never learned to play', so sad, hope is so important in all situations. Amazing art work!