We may still have a little while To grow our corn on this garden isle As it pirouettes through the Milky Way, But maybe not - who can say. Her cobalt oceans, once pristine, Her virgin forests that burgeoned green And her amber waves of grain Have been stained with rivers of red. This tiny gem is hanging by a thread. Meanwhile, we push and shove To stake out our claim. We fight over lines in the dirt And kill in God's name. Some say the answer lies in waging war To end the violence, to right the score. Some say it lies with prayer - Some with leaders or with laws. I say it's hopeless, if we don't treat the deeper cause. How can we ever legislate A state of peace, an end to hate? A peaceful world can only be When we all see beyond the boundary Of us and them, and me and you To one Self - and to that self be true. Who here would cut their own arm Or starve their own child Or let any part of themselves Be harmed or defiled? We may still have a little while To fly our flags on this garden isle As it pirouettes through the Milky Way. But maybe not - who can say.