Perhaps then from the remnants who scuttle from deep caves and shelters, all the dissillusioned survivors will see the cue ball effects of their new world, and yet still find tiny seedlings struggling to grow in the radioactively cooling soil.
Perhaps they will at long last choose to ban all war and bend swords into shared plows working as one to regrow, loving as one to regenerate, living as one because so few, can survive without each other to lean on.
Perhaps when they become flesh crutches for each other, they will learn to walk in the brotherhood of man, without detours down the many varied paths of destruction.
Some day my in future come an empty world a silent sun.
A gaping hole where life should be, and all is still but the restless seas.
So men beware of what you do, lest some Mayday, this ode comes true!