Sifting through the peace

Sifting through the peace; the hope
That neither desire nor petition
Could make pleasant days languish.
“Life ought not be war’s weeping pieces,”
Emerged, though dimly, from the stone
Lying about as deathly commerce;
Vacated of all trade and light.

Looking through the haze; the smoke,
Of such pale and unseemly condition,
That commanded daylight to perish;
A disparaging silhouette seized
A fragile child’s form. Standing alone
She repeated again the same verse,
Knowing truth is sweet and contrite.