I think forsythia is mellow light,
Beyond the confines of all wrong or right.
That warms war weary eyes against the night.
The power of its brave statement after pain
Makes one believe that hope is not in vain.
Something resembling sun will rise again.
Sheer beauty has the solace to restore
The soul until the ignorance of war,
Is nothing but a shadow anymore.
Shine on Forsythia burn like a prayer,
For those who sent their good-byes home by air.
We wish for them, always a spring somewhere.