Stand here and pray for peace, while soft-voiced ghosts
Speak of a century of agony
In tones that must compel our deeper prayers,
They bore their part and suffered; they are we.
Stop the loud thunders, listen to their words,
And be ashamed of every careless thought,
The swift scapegoating of all otherness:
Have we learned nothing that their pain has taught?
Have we learned nothing down the long slow years?
Have we not learned that every man bleeds red?
While politicians arc their platitudes
Let us be ones that pray for peace instead.
Let us be peace in every day its breath,
Let us be quick to listen, slow to speak,
And reach out hands to give and bless and heal,
And grow an olive leaf for this dove’s beak.
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