Lime tree kaddish

Beneath the lime trees in the park,

I hear the whispered music play,

That never changes night or day,

As long as there’s a wind to hark,

As long as there are leaves to sing.

On the corner soldiers stand,

Their rifles pointed at the foe

That they can never understand,

As there’s no rhyme or reason to

The blackness in the heart of man,

For men have not the hearts of trees.

More’s the pity, says the breeze.