563: To Tolkien

Glory did nothing for the one whose trust

lay in the blossom that Beauty had grown.

Tho nations have concealed their conquer-lust

by claiming a fake beauty of their own.

Regime will wear a mask of masterpiece

once it has tricked a few who yearned its wealth,

but must ignore its manufactured peace

whenever harm must come for its own health.

The flower has a tender truce with fate

that lets its petals grow howe’er they will.

The trees tell me to watch, and, still, to wait–

and breathe wherever green grasses grow still.

A soldier may love flowers if he’s wise,

but Beauty would have kept him from war’s eyes.