Note to Myself

Some times demand our words lace up their boots
And loudly march until they are blood-shod
As Wilfred Owen of the first Great War
Saw his companions die in paths they trod.
Such times, this time requires us to shout,
To publicly defend our country’s soul,
To try to save the children and the hurt,
To fight as we can fight to remain whole.
In quiet hours, though, if such we find,
Regardless of the constant need to fight,
We still need the soft wisdom of the clear
And gentle words that feed our strength and light.
Remember, then, amid the shouting throngs
To save space for your gentle, healing songs.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Patience, Poetry, Politics, Sonnet, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Note to Myself

  1. rita kowats says:

    oh, yes. Yes. I love “blood shod.” It is jarring in just the right corner of the soul.

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