no room today for heroes

no birds are singing as the sun goes down
the world's in mourning for what it is not sure
the illness that we suffer calls for a sudden cure
but all we've got are a quacksalver and a clown
if we could choose to smile and not to frown
we might wonder just what we could secure
from those who wanting to harry the impure
are willing to sacrifice the village and the town
the trees and shrubs that winter storms withstand
are never asked why they have made that choice
instead we just expect them to stand there
we give them nothing nothing comes from each hand
but in their silence we can detect a voice
that speaks to us in accents free from fear