No boots to break the morning hush,
No tanks to tear the meadow’s blush,
No sirens scream, no skies turned red—
The world has wept, and war has fled.
The fields grow food, not graves or fear,
No whispers of a soldier near.
Children chase the wind, not drones,
And laughter fills the spaces once bones.
No borders drawn in blood and pride,
No mothers left to mourn and hide.
The news now speaks of stars and rain,
Of healing hearts, not endless pain.
Steel once shaped for death and fire
Now builds the homes where hope aspires.
The flags no longer mark divide—
They dance in peace, all colors tied.
Disputes are met with listening eyes,
Not missiles launched into the skies.
No need to fight for voice or land
When every soul is free to stand.
Imagine still this gentle earth,
Where worth is known beyond a birth,
And not a single life is priced
By power’s greed or war’s device.
A dream, perhaps—but dreams can grow,
Like seeds beneath the melting snow.
And peace may bloom, if hands will dare
To plant it deep—and keep it there.
Thank-you for reading.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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