Here's a fabulous poem by Mr. Stafford. When I first started reading poetry, I read this poem to my grandmother, and she pointed out to me what a powerful anti-war poem this was. (I am embarrassed to say that I missed the apocalyptic reference).
The Epitaph Ending in "And"--William Stafford
In the last storm, when hawks
blast upward and a dove is
driven into the grass, its broken wings
a delicate design, the air between
wracked thin where it stretched before,
a clear spring bent close too often
(that Earth should ever have such wings
burnt on in blind color!), this will be
good as an epitaph:
Doves did not know where to fly, and
In the last storm, when hawks
blast upward and a dove is
driven into the grass, its broken wings
a delicate design, the air between
wracked thin where it stretched before,
a clear spring bent close too often
(that Earth should ever have such wings
burnt on in blind color!), this will be
good as an epitaph:
Doves did not know where to fly, and
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