When I was your age my son.
I was afraid that every day was my last.
I slept deep underground.
To a continual barrage of sound.
Seeing the victims pulled from the rubble.
Bloody dead, the end of their trouble.
Moving bricks and timber.
Deeper and deeper. A childs foot resemble.
Hair and flesh and blood assemble.
Why my son did they hate us so?
To kill and murder,all they know.
The human race!
What a disgrace.
You can stop this trade.
Drop no bombs.
Do not invade.
Life is for living.
Not to assasinate.
In your shining jet of war.
Indiscriminately killing all before.
In agony fire and explosion.
Women and children no exclusion.
Wish them well instead.
Copyright © Norman Purvis