She's holding her daughter's hand with one of hers, and pushing the stroller with the other. Doesn't seem to have the sign posts clenched in her teeth, so I'm assuming she's just passing them. Captured at the right moment so to speak.
Bill, this is from John Denver's "Poems, Prayers and Promises" album (Songwriters: LASCELLES, KENDREW)
The Box
Once upon a time, in the land of hush-a-bye, around about the wondrous days of yore, they came across a kind of box, bound up with chains and locked with locks and labeled "Kindly do not touch it's war."
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout and a gaily-colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks. And please don't ever play about with war.
Well, the children understood. Children happen to be good and they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn't try to pick the locks or break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn't either, sisters, aunts, grannies neither. They were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in those wondrous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow for opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid and spilled the insides out across the floor. A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags and all the tears, and horror, and the death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, and bumping into everything in store. And what was sad and most unfair was that it didn't really seem to care much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly, it bumps them every day and more, and more, and leaves them dead, and burned, and dying, thousands of them sick and crying. 'Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
There is a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all. All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure that we can get it back into the box, and bind the chains, and lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, cause it's been bouncing round for years and years. In spite of all the wisdom wizzed since those wondrous days of yore. And the time they came across the box, bound up with chains and locked with locks, and labeled "Kindly do not touch, it's war."
