A roaring river cuts through the land,
The river thins down at the bend,
the bend where I would play as a child,
And where now I stop to rest awhile.
Beside the river is an old willow tree,
It’s very presence comforts me,
For this is the same willow that cried amity,
On the day that we all lost hope.
This willow knows of great, great sorrow,
Of war that would come perhaps tomorrow,
Of stories untold and heroes unsung,
Knows much does this willow by water that runs.
Amity, amity, it sang in dark times,
Friendship, it called to a world torn with strife,
Peace, it asked of two nations at war,
Amity it called, to the heroes of lore.
The war had torn us all apart,
Had emptied our minds, clouded our hearts,
Wartime strategies were all that we knew,
Till the willow cried amity and hope of light grew.
And now as I sit in the willows embrace,
I know vengeance is gone, I am safe, I am safe.
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