Till I end my song

These days I want soft music,
words flowing smoothly,
not bombastic, but gentle, hopefully soothing,
like a quartet for the end of time;
no guns booming, no shrieks and screams,
voices in terror and despair;
instead — soft waters flowing gently till I end my song.
Sweetly flowing, carrying away the horrors and the hate.
I’ve heard too much, listened too long,
incessant sounds of dying and disaster,
rockets firing, bombs exploding, floodwaters surging:
no pity, no mercy, no soft music.

Now let us just suppose
that all that ranting, shouting, swearing,
were no more;
dream of a quiet past:
Swete Themmes runne softly
we can always go on hoping
and flow gently onwards, forwards—
till I end my song.

(with thanks to Edmund Spenser)