It is by these preserved roads

that children lay their woven reeds

among hilltops where fighting 

hopeless fell among the grass as did

they once lay in their youth

dreaming over a settled peace

that a generation comets beyond them

would play in fields of gold

yeild! 

Pleasure hangs from a rope

over charred pitts of burning coal

my young

play down the streets

i fear my fellow has taken our apologies

and left termoil in our shoes