Give peace a chance!

One of the things that humans do, that I will never understand, is fight.  The whole idea of war just doesn't make sense to me.  The fighting and killing in Ukraine is horrible, and yet it continues.  For as long as I can remember, I have been hearing people cry out for peace, yet it never seems to stay for very long.  There are always wars somewhere in the world (or the threat of war, which is also bad) and so there is always suffering and dying.  It does not have to be that way though, and thinking about war (and peace) this morning, reminded me of a poem I first heard many years ago (early 70s, I think).  It's called The Box, and I'd like to share it here with you:   

The Box
by Kendrew Lascelles

Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-a-Bye,
Around about the wondrous days of yore,
They came across a sort of box, all bound with chains and locked with locks,
And labelled, "Kindly Do Not Touch... It's War."
A decree was issued 'round about, all with a flourish and a shout,
And a gaily-colored mascot tripping lightly on before:
"Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks,
And please, don't ever mess about with War".
Well, the children understood; children happen to be good,
And were just as good around that time of yore.
They didn't try to break the locks, or break into that deadly box,
And never tried to play about with War.
Mommies didn't either; sisters, aunts, nor grannies neither;
'Cause they were quiet and sweet and pretty
In those wondrous days of yore.
Well, very much the same as now, they’re not to the ones to blame somehow,
For opening up that deadly box of War.
But someone did...
Someone battered in the lid, and spilled the insides all across the floor:
A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball, made up of flags and guns and all.
The tears and the horror and the death that goes with War.
It bounced right out, and went bashing all about.
Bumping into everything in store;
And what was sad and most unfair, was that it really didn't seem to care
Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly, and I'll tell you this quite plainly,
It bumps them everyday, and more and more;
And leaves them dead and burned and crying,
Thousands of them sick and dying,
'Cause when it bumps, it's very, very sore.'
There is a way to stop the ball... it isn't very hard at all;
All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure
We could get it back inside the box, and bind the chains and lock the locks,
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears,
'Cause it's been bouncing 'round for years and years,
In spite of all the wisdom whizzed since those wondrous days of yore;
And the time they came across the box,
All bound with chains and locked with locks,
And labeled, "Kindly Do Not Touch... It's War".