The Box

Greetings,

I remember first hearing this poem recited on a John Denver album (see Discography). Though the album had been out for awhile, it was one that I bought while I was in high school. It remains poignantly in my conscience, all these years later. I think this is so, considering all the choices that are available to us in life, and at this time of year, when the thoughts and feelings of Peace Sabbath fade and those of Remembrance Day begin to surface...

The Box (Lascelles)

Once upon the time in the land of Hush-a-bye,
around about the wondrous days of yore,
I came across a sort of box,
bound up with chains and locked with locks,
and labelled, "Kindly do not touch. It's WAR."

A decree was issued 'round about,
all with a flourish and a shout,
and a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before:
"Don't fiddle with this deadly box,
or break the chains or pick the locks,
and please, don't ever play about with war."

Well, the children understood.
The children happened to be good,
and they were just as good around that time of yore.
They never tried to pick the locks
or break into that deadly box;
they never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either.
Sisters, aunts and grannies neither;
'cause they were quiet and sweet and pretty in those wondrous days of yore.

Well, very much the same as now,
not the ones to blame, somehow,
for opening up that deadly box of WAR.
But someone did.
Someone battered in the lid
and spilled the insides out across the floor.
A sort of bouncey, bumpy ball
made up of guns and flags and all the tears and horror
and the death that goes with war...
It bounced right out and went bashing all about
and bumping into everything in store,
and what was sad and most unfair
is that it didn't really seem to care
much who it bumped,
or why,
or what,
or for...

It bumps the children mainly,
and I'll tell you this quite plainly,
it bumps them every day and more and more,
and leaves them dead and burned and dying;
thousands of them sick and crying.
'Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.

Now there's a way to stop the ball.
It isn't difficult at all.
All it takes is Wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure
that we can get it back into the box,
and bind the chains,
and lock the locks;
but no one seems to want to save the children anymore...

Well, that's the way it all appears,
'cause it's been bouncing 'round for years and years,
in spite of all the Wisdom-whiz in those wondrous days of yore.
And the time they came across the box,
bound up with chains and locked with locks,
and labelled, "Kindly do not touch. It's WAR."

Blessings,
Rob.