Scarlet Oak in Autumn
Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Oak tree leaves turn bronze
Autumn will self-cleanse
And we beneath, a race
Of humans face to face

Transform ourselves by war
To what we were before
Scatterings of crowds
Beneath the dusty clouds

Can you feel it come
From where all war must come?
Our branches leaves will lack
Bare winter will come back

The cities like the trees
Turned naked they will freeze—
What was such power for
If not a use in war?

All Holiness prevent
What we ourselves have sent