
Maybe tomorrow the bells will ring 
The whistles blow and the children sing 
That peace has come back to earth again 
And sanity has returned to men. 
Maybe tomorrow the sun will rise 
Ona peaceful earth, because of peaceful skies— 
Blue skies — whose billowing clouds contain — 
Not roaring, screaming death — but rain. 
Maybe tomorrow the rain will fall 
On brown, scorched lands, and disperse the pall 
Of strife and hate that lingers there 
On once-green fields that no longer bear. 
Maybe tomorrow when guns are stilled 
And destruction’s done — we’ll start to build 
The homes we’ve saved and waited for 
_ And start to really live once more. 
(Cuinton Brown) 
