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.