Peace Is Just a Word

Peace Is Just a Word

I stroll the National Mall this cool fall morning;
yellow leaves sift from an elm as joggers crunch

pebbles between the white Capitol dome, surmounted by
the effigy of Liberty with eagle-headdress, sun-rose-

red needle of Washington's monument. A group of U.S.
Marines thunder by, scarlet banner flapping, gripped

by the lead runner. They holler, "Sound Off!"
Swathes of sweat stain gray tee shirts; they thud

by the Hirshhorn museum's outdoor sculpture garden,
no-nonsense bronze of a Henry Moore nude, the grim

figures of Rodin's "The Burghers of Calais." A plump
mockingbird ascends to the contorted topmost branch

of Harry Lauder's Walking Stick and commences to sing.

Christopher T. George


Thanksgiving is tomorrow and there is much to be thankful for and there is much to regret and decry. Life as ever is alloyed, never truly joyful nor totally bleak. Lord save us.