Poetry

(after W.H. Auden)
 
They had fled from him,
some for their lives from his sight,
had fled from his might
and now it felt only like an interim
 
as with his bloody big machines
he had turned against himself, trying to destroy his kind
and suddenly there was light that shines
naturally and no sign of him they could find
 
and it was a day of rest as there had never been
with beauty and tranquillity that went on and on
and they thought that man would never again be seen
that he and his implements were forever gone
 
but the fun had only just begun when a shot rang out
and a man appeared with a gun, using it clear and loud.
 
[Reference: “The Sabbath” by W.H. Auden.]