There’ll be swallows a’singing from dusk until dawn.
And the nightly concerto by frogs in the pond,
And a plum tree the shade of a platinum blonde.
And a feathery robin alight on a fence
Whistling whimsical tunes of her little romance.
And not one will recall of that menial war
When it’s gone, when it’s dead, so what good is it for?
No one grieves. No one cries. Neither bird and nor rose
If forever and ever humanity goes
And the Spring? and the Spring will salute new sunrise
Never noticing our demise.