There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

This is basically my protest. This war will not accomplish anything.
Only more hardship and I pray to my Gods that they watch over us all.
May we be blessed with more compassion for one another even though we
are different. Go face the world knowing that this too shall pass.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Phaestian, in the year 334 AF.