Many leagues passed in sore travail
But in the end all to no avail.
The bird in the hand can't catch the two,
Open palm and off it flew.
Struggles cease from war to peace
As the Devil earns his money.
And all the demons he has sired
Cannot keep evil ones from being tired.
The painful truth is all too clear
As it is told from year to year:
Terror stalks the weak in heart
But will not yield to the harvest field.
Goodness knows they are but pawns
Searching the sky for many dawns.
And in the end they take to the wind
Rising above this long lost love.
Hearts of fear will reap the tears
As the battle lines are drawn tight.
When the globe is lost in conflagration
It bears with pride the consecration
Of heart-loves past and wars to win
Of weary travellers to walk again.
1988
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