If you had chance to change a word
That was spoken in anger or hate
Would you?
If you had chance to go back in time
And change a historic date
Should you?

What if the word was invasion
Given in a speech of war
Should you?
What if the date was August nineteen thirty nine
And a fifty-year old man made hate a law.
Would you?

What if that word could be erased
And a war never begun
Would you?
What if that man could be taught to love, not hate
So that all that came to be, could be undone
Should you?

What if there is a man of power and celebrity.
Who beguiles with speeches of such truth, sincerely spoken
Should You
But power gained the speeches change to anger and mistrust
And hate and fear once again threaten a world being broken.
Would you?

I Would
I Should
Too Late.

Autumn falls across the land
And trees prepare for winter sleep
Casting off their summer clothes
In blaze of gold and reds so deep
They fall to the dew soaked ground
Finally at rest, a decaying heap

As a morning sun breaks above the hills
It shines across white cotton bathed vales
Which swirl and spin against the burn
Tries to hold its misty form, but fails
Revealing a land of green and blue
And fields of sheep and straw packed bales

In the light of the growing day
Wonders now for the world to see
Resting amongst the nooks and cracks
Dew crusted strings of mystery
And at its centre at rest, work done
Sits the artist, eight legs stretched out so daintily

Silence settles like a sticky membrane
Across an anxious land
Which holds its breath, as the pressure rises
And wildlife head for cover
Birds silenced as their song is quashed
As static crackles and dark clouds gather
A raging swirl of darkened rain
Held back in a swollen mass
Then the release as the fire explodes
Shooting white hot arrows to the quivering ground
And in answer to the burning torture
The sky screams out a rumbling moan
Which resonates across the hills
Quietening to a murmur across the distance.
But the pregnant clouds have not finished their labour
Another flash of white fire
Sends out white stems across the sky
Like roots from a tree searching for sustenance
But not finding it the sky cries out its agony
As finally the waters break
A heavy wall of droplets head to Earth
And hit the ground like a wave hitting shore
Gurgling streams soon fill to burst
And still the rain falls
Waterfalls are born over grey cragged hills
And still the rain falls
Once placid rivers are now raging rapids
And the sky sighs its relief
Its labour done
A sigh becomes a breeze becomes a wind
And the clouds now drained of rain are carried away
Leaving the land scrubbed clean and new
Surviving to see another day.