This is the field where the battle did not happen,
where the unknown soldier did not die.
This is the field where grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing is the sky.
Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings across the open.
No people killed – or were killed – on this ground
hollowed by the neglect of an air so tame
that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.
by William Stafford
USA (1914-1993)
where the unknown soldier did not die.
This is the field where grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing is the sky.
Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings across the open.
No people killed – or were killed – on this ground
hollowed by the neglect of an air so tame
that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.
by William Stafford
USA (1914-1993)
I googled beautiful meadow and found this photograph by Michael Wheatley. I googled peace poem and found the unnamed poem by William Stafford. I thought they worked well together. I borrowed them both without permission (even though I always advised my students that it is better to ask for permission, than it is to beg for forgiveness).
The Fourth of July is not my favorite holiday. I could not find my own words or images to convey my wish for things not to be the way they are.
Have a safe holiday.
Peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment