The soft whisper of a butterfly wing 

And the hushed conversation of the rustling grass

Call me to the garden swing,

Where I can reminisce about my past.


I watch the evening sky transform

From blue to red to pink and orange.

On the horizon I spot a storm

Raging and approaching fast.


I can hear the distant thunder

Like a firing squad discharging.

I remember looking for cover

While my battalion was marching.


Birds fly overhead

Like tiny bomber planes.

I had wished that I was dead,

Rather than in pain.


The storm is coming closer 

And I can see flashes of light.

Jsut like the ones I saw 

On that dark and dreary night.


A chill runs down my spine 

As I think of that fatal battle.

The memory of that time 

Still makes my bones rattle.


I lie awake till dawn 

Because I am on my own.

My comrades are long gone 

And I am left alone.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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