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Ballad of war

Last night we all might have had something
   concerning the marksmanshiping of war.
 The waves then might differ
   pulsating, cresting, rising and falling both in tides
   and others?.
 Last night the something was thither:
  If  I said poetry, might not be alone;
      if said naïve things naivety, might holden back the rule.
 Now, how many things were like bubbling through
    the woods?,
    how many things were like swerving flower or swirling
   to dell last night?.
  I think war was a seasonal tree and was somehow fully
    alive or it sometimes shedding it's leaves or recently
   has become magical?.
 War was sometimes completely dry ,
  is not that sometimes a kind of encounter? 
 how like peace is an love fresh and tender tree?.

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