The eyes of a child reside in the face of a man
Beholding the sunshine and flowers upon the land
He treks through the mountains and inhales the air
As gentle winds gust through his well kept hair
Life is best when able to be lived
A gift to most, that is certain.
He beholds the desolation of bombs long since blown
The echoing cries of those in anguish he had known
Flowers trampled under tank tread and booted foot
As hope and dreams lay amongst rubble, under soot
The eyes of a man reside in the face of a child
Life is best when able to be lived
A gift? To most that is certain.
-j.g.smith (01/07/09)
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