Woe Is Me Cries the Weary Land
“WOE IS ME”, CRIES THE WEARY LAND…
As the day bade its circadian farewell, the fleeing sun
withdrew its glow from weary war worn trees;
on distant plains, vacant honey hives no longer
buzz with the songs of industrious bees.
The thunder of exploding bombs rains down dreaded death
in the midst of innocent crowds;
as the swollen moon struggles to peep through spiraling
wind blowing smoke and eerie clouds.
What is it in the psyche of man that cause
destruction of his own kind?
Can’t man see that wanton wars will cause us
to run out of time?
“Woe is me” cries out the blood soaked weary land;
When will peace triumph over this insanity of man?
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