MURMURS

[This is number one of two different poems of the same title]

Speak not of heroes,
Nor heap me with honor
Nor plac the gold star
On the ground where I lie;
But weep for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is a useless
And vain way to die.

Speak not of courage,
Nor yet dream of glory,
Nor fill all the children
With War's dreadful lie;
But week for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is useless
And vain way to die.

Speak not of freedom
Where the negro is beaten,
Nor high standards of living
Where starved babies cry;
But weep for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is a useless
And vain way to die.

Gather my children
All there about you,
Make of them worldlings
With no flag to fly;
And weep for me,
Weep for me, weep for me ever,
War is a wasteful
And sad way to die.

****************

They opened soup kitchens this year,
And hungry men shivered in the snow
Waiting for charity.............
And Industry wallowed in her profits ........
Yet they talk of War!.
But do not hear the murmurs
Rising in the wind.