P Sufenas Virius Lupus

Like peace the ears of corn sprout,
like war they are cut down.

Like a feast are the throngs of the dead,
like famine is the parade of life.

As joy is the companion of mother and child,
as sorrow is the loss of daughter and son.

As seasons from light to dark, warm to cold,
as night to day, a circle’s course.

Through all of these I remain,
mother of Peace in every moment.


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