When all hope was lost, I swept up the ashes
Of my lost years and wept upon their remnants.
Not tears of grief, but of joy for their rebirth—
Sprung from phoenix flame.

As the sun shades the moon, the years start anew,
Once more glad and draped with white clouds of fortune.
The Bird of Peace flies over the battlements
Of wars long forgot.

When all my trials had settled, I kissed this earth,
Crediting her faith in her abused rigor.
She dons no dried barks, but finest flowers,
In her feast called “Spring”.

The Bird of Peace coos with no trace of despair,
A beacon of hope among this former fear.
Change has been brought to us, the children of War;
No more shall we weep.

No more shall Earth weep, or all of her children,
They dance with the drums of peaceful, gladder days.
The drums of war burn in the purging flame,
Never to recur.