Peace
Peace to one on an evening jaunt
Across the street; a house of haunt
Rests ones soul of armies fallen
For peace, many are a calling’
In days of old, peace meant hate
Keep persons down and they will not proliferate
But now those very persons procreate
Peace is a fountain full of quarters
And not one coveted by mid-night persons crossing borders
Peace is a place; a Utopia in fact
A place of ones wildest dreams that makes an impact-
But not to step on some ones back
One thing is clear, peace is true
Because, if it wasn’t this plant would not be blue.
With a world at stake, peace is not a fake
And wounded soldiers and pedestrians alike
Never wonder why peace is a plight.
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