The Coming Of War (Poetry)

There are times I dream
of a balcony
some place in the sun
peaceful and hazy
where I hear bees hum

among the flowers
perfume wafting sweet
a cat curled content
dozing at my feet
no chores to be done

My mind trouble-free
the sky’s clear and bright
no phantom or threat
to shadow the light
it’s perfect — and yet

there’s part of me knows
it simply won’t last
once some zephyr blows
uneasily past
bound to resurrect

the nightmares of old
such change is abrupt
then vision grows cold
and dark clouds corrupt
I hear war’s faint drum