After the Fireworks

The moon beams aloft, reclaiming her throne
from waning of rockets’ red glare;

Dogs army-crawl, dazed, from under our beds,
still in shock from bombs bursting in air;

The owl and whip-poor-will renew their song,
vesper hymns lifted God-ward once more,

That true freedom rings out in sounds of peace–
precious after the echoes of war.

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