There will come soft rains and there will be the smell of the ground
and swallows circling with their shimmering sound
and frogs in the pools singing at night and wild plum trees in tremulous white
robins will wear their feathery fire
whistling their whims on a low fence wire
and not one will know of the war
not one will care
at last when she woke at dawn
would scarcely know that we're gone
