the wind--the stinking stinging wind
that brings the rot to our nostrils.
the valley over has had war for ages.
their sextons cannot keep up.
a burial contingent is being formed to stay
the spread of disease from our valley.
we've been thankful that the war
remained there--that one side or the
other could not win long enough to
look for new regions to conquer.
we have chosen neutrality in the contest.
so it is a hard thing to watch as many
of us have relatives in that valley. we
excuse them to go fight but they are not
allowed to return with so much blood
on them. the same as we take in refugees.
we take them in but are not so friendly.
we do not profiteer. no horses. no guns
sold across the divide. that's just right
to us. yes, we did build a high wall. we
are not proud of it.
their music that floated to us was so sad.
it came in on rains, plinking drops of
abject grief. parents, siblings of war dead.
generals' last thoughts before going to
sleep. some of us went mad from the
sounds. or more probably the years of it
stacked on end.
should word of peace come we will all be
suspicious. it is our nature. those people
are tricky in their war tactics. I suppose
that would be a thing to be verified--yet
who to send? a celebration of truce would
be nice. very nice. many animals from the
smoking sheds would be taken down.