Bread is life.
Ukrainian wheat
Feeds the world.
Fields plowed.
Seed sowed
While bombs fall
On fertile earth
Watered now
By chemical rain?
War kills.
Not for hours,
Nor days and weeks;
But, for months and years
Or even decades.
Another Chernobyl looms
Over wheat fields
And their children,
Young and old,
Hungry and waiting.
I grow cold
Fearing more, contemplating
Famine and war.
annarino writes 