Another piece from my great-grandmother Alice B. Johnson from her book “Where Children Live” (1958)
The spring will come again–
To every war-torn land. Winter’s gloom
Will flee each hill
Where children still
Will seek the violets that bloom
Beside a country lane.
The spring will come again–
Shell craters will be grassy hollows where
The quail will nest
And wild fowl rest
While lifted wings of swallows there
Will brush the gentle rain.
The spring will come again–
And stately trees will leaf and shield
The trunks stripped bare
That mutely stare
Across bleak meadows that will yield
A wealth of golden grain.
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