Rhymes come calling from joy,
And in grief a verse begs to be born.
The muse scatters misfortune,
So things do not turn for the worse.

The artist paints pictures,
The shepherd tends his flocks.
To create is a human calling,
The one who carries the torch of light.

Dawn peeks into the little window —
We’ll say “enough” to the dark.
Let us believe in tomorrow’s sun —
An end will come to the war as well.