That's a *gorgeous* poem. The Ray Bradbury story named after it made me cry the first time I read it.


This one is also one of my favorite poems about war, though I can't say it's of the happy-fluffy variety (is there such a thing?)...

Grass
Carl Sandburg


Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work ---
000000000000I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
000000000000What place is this?
000000000000Where are we now?

000000000000I am the grass.
000000000000Let me work.