Where love isn't milked, but reared
And blood, not shed but shared
Where the dark is met with calm, not fear
And light isn't chained to far-away spheres
Where trust resides in what one hears
And why one writes becomes crystal clear
When sleep returns to children everywhere
And mothers regain what they lost in the war
Where poets can live in a peasant's gear
And music accepts to reside between the ears
Into that serene epoch
May my country arise.
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