The distant barking of the dogs of war
and the panicked laughter of children
caught up in the autumn afternoon,
with the leaves running,
and the trees holding on,

and always the music
hidden in the order of it all
the condition of all things good,
aspired to, met
in this now-ness of bone, fibre, pen,

this soft voice of knowledge
saying, at last,
Peace rising up out of its torpor of sleep
staggering into the sunlight,
almost too late.