Paradise is a crust of bread

And a sip of running water.

Paradise is electric light,

A little warmth, an evening bath.

Paradise is to meet with friends,

To go outside, to sniff the air,

And smell no war, and see no dead,

No buildings razed, but peace instead.

This paradise is somewhere else.

It feels so near; it should be here.

For now, we plunge back in the fray,

And pray, and claim as right, one day,

A chance to grieve, a chance to live,

Perhaps forget, perhaps forgive.