What matters if we stop these bells,
—the toll and knell of guns and bombs,
the monstrous groan of metal wheels
the murmur of a boy gurgling on hope
before his breath is smothered out,
if we cannot quench the thirst of bureaucracy?
He passed away today—or was it days ago,I have not the strength to tell.Anymore, the rose’s petal’s saywhat my words could never:don’t send me more flowers—please don’t affix a card to the lilies,because I have relived his deathwith each wilting lilyand cried more often then a rose in molt.