The Weeping Streets

Progress wanders down the haunted road,

its godly death-mask rusted, etched with shame,

its trembling

Children & war.

The dark battle is over,
Bombs and shells had rained down,
On the enemy soldiers who were ensconced,
In

Go home soldier, this is not your anthem, not your land,

Nor the people you were trained to defend, that’s why your

The Battle of the Somme:

As early as the sunrise set
The children go to face their death
Their lips curved, their heads held

Blood, pain, agony, tears; Soliders march, none showing their fears.

Sadness sweeps the fields as if it were a funeral;