In all other countries
   Anywhere we choose,
From the year's old war-fires
   See the smoke ooze.

Freedom's season's over
   And all the bomb free hours,
The red fires blazing,
   The black smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
   Something bright in all!
Freedom comes like winter,
   Bomb fires in the fall.

                    (Apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson)