Drink Tenderly from the Cup of War

                                           There is no right or wrong,

                                                     only love or hate,

                                              Drink tenderly, my beloved,

                                                     from the cup of our

                                                         brother’s blood,

                                                   For is it not our own?

                                                         Is it still not blood?

                                               There is a flowing fountain,

                                                           here we can

                                                   Cool our lips on the

                                                           liquid of love,

                                                  Drink deeply, my tender one,

                                                           for these waters

                                                                 are still and deep.

                                                                       S.K. Lindeman