After the Fireworks
The moon beams aloft, reclaiming her thronefrom waning of rockets’ red glare; Dogs army-crawl, dazed, from under our beds, still in shock from bombs bursting in air; The owl and whip-poor-will renew their song, vesper hymns lifted God-ward once more, That true freedom rings out in sounds of peace- precious after the echoes of war.
