The news of war

Those who knew of war were a distant people,
and a quiet one as well–
for few of them would speak,
when they had war stories to tell.
So when the news traveled here,
it fell on an unready ear–
it fell like the hammer on each coffin nail,
on hearts as fearful as their faces pale.
Then a terror overtook me;
the hands of death seemed as though they shook me–
for gone were the wars of yesterday,
and the sun might rise on a blackened day:
This soft people, unknown to war,
might be blown away and forgotten–
faster than our memories of before,
for there might be no future people begotten.
It all still seemed a distant dream–
some phantom too real for mere chills–
some untaught lesson called for by distant leaders,
ignorant themselves of what they announced on the hills.
But that day there came no louder war cry–
no, there was no louder sound,
than the wailing of spouse and mother,
who foresaw the bodies on the ground…