Their arms akimbo, I watched them fly...
not to soar to peaks on high, but to
painful deaths, scattered on the ground,
their screams an awful, mournful sound.
What a choice to have to make...what agony.
What a way to have to die in a land of liberty,
where senses had been dulled by years of peace.
What a way for our comfort in living to cease.
Oh, birds of death, we hold you close,
never will that sight be erased from the heart.
Never again will our complacency and comfort
be allowed to pull the coffin’s leaden cart.
A wise man considers every possibility,
aware of the hateful and evil whose credibility
is not but smoke upon the watery sky...
May there now be no more death to make us cry.