The Windy Season

When helping hands hinder and harm
And chaos slays every grace and charm
That during days of gold saw us through
The parade of strangers marching to
A steady beat, the same for all
Why then, speed us towards that fall?
Why burn the leaves and rue the day?
What can a violent wind hope to change
Far too much
And far too rushed

When children's voices are swept away
And fresh new lives are laid to waste
When the runner's race just can't be run
And olive branches all turn to guns
You know the windy season comes
To whirl and whip
And razor-rip
Time from our limp grip

Why is it we only bundle one another
And call the stranger, brother
When it's far too late
And the winds separate
All we've loved
From all we've lived?
Can we not instead
Change the bomb to bread
Spare the gun
And spin the cloth
What would it cost?
To shield each other from these winds
Feed and clothe and heal and mend
How much more life must we expend
As the windy season comes again?

~Miranda Southwell

**Our thoughts are with all those affected by the recent tragedy in Boston. May Peace find you wherever you are.

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