O Euterpe

O Euterpe, O Euterpe, be my muse
And descend on my lines
Like morning dews.

I crave to write a lyric
For the child who witnesses
The great horror of mankind.

What dream does he dream when he sleeps?
What hope to the world
Does his little mind keep?

Be my power, I want to write.
Be my strength, I want to describe
How his little chest
Trembles up and down,
What horror he sees
On others’ frown.

Make my pen mighty enough
To sketch his eyes
With terror and alarm.

O Euterpe, O Euterpe, be my rhyme
With the tune and the rhythm
Of great sublime.

So that I can create
A masterpiece and will dedicate
It to all privileged kids.

They will read this,
Hate and despise
The war and its creators,

And do promise to build
The world with love, care, and peace.