A Poem (from a non-poet)

Morning in Fayetteville

Is this the way it is
in the war-torn countries of the world?
An old man sits and reads an old book.
Women talk of the day and its work.
A child plays with toy ponies on the floor.
The old man looks up, listens and turns a page.

A breeze sings softly in the chimes.
And beyond the woods out back,
somewhere--not far away--beneath the blue sky
artillery rumbles.
The glass in the windows rattles,
and a family picture falls from the wall.