Not The Peace Of A Cease-Fire Not Even The Vision Of The Wolf And The Lamb, But Rather As In The Heart When The Excitement Is Over And You Can Talk Only About A Great Weariness. I Know That I Know How To Kill, That Makes Me An Adult. And My Son Plays With A Toy Gun That Knows How To Open And Close Its Eyes And Say Mama. A Peace Without The Big Noise Of Beating Swords Into Ploughshares, Without Words, Without The Thud Of The Heavy Rubber Stamp: Let It Be Light, Floating, Like Lazy White Foam. A Little Rest For The Wounds - Who Speaks Of Healing? (And The Howl Of The Orphans Is Passed From One Generation To The Next, As In A Relay Race: The Baton Never Falls.) Let It Come Like Wildflowers, Suddenly, Because The Field Must Have It: Wildpeace.